A Taste of Misery
by EstelWolfe
Summary: Captain Jack Sparrow returns to Port Royal, destined for the gallows for a crime that he honestly didn't commit.
1. Chapter 1: The Death of Hope

Disclaimer:  If I owned them, they'd all be much the worse for wear than they are.

AN:  First time writing or posting, though I've been reading fan fic for about two and a half years now, so please be kind.  Constructive criticism welcomed, suggestions welcomed (especially when concerning a better title), flames will be forwarded to Barbosa in that deepest circle of hell that Jack talked about unless they can be put to better use . . .

**A Taste of Misery**

**Part 1**

Jack stumbled and nearly fell, calling on the innate stubbornness that he had always had to keep him upright as rough hands pushed him away.  His shoulders ached as he struggled to keep his numb hands bent upward at an awkward angle behind his back to keep the noose around his neck from tightening.  It really was a good trick, that, tying someone's hands behind their back and then tying that rope to a noose . . .yes, he would have to remember it in the future . . .Jack stumbled backwards as a second set of hands intersected with his trembling body, and his hands instinctively dropped, causing the rope to tighten again.  Between the noose and the gag, it was getting rather difficult to breath, and small flashes of light were dancing in front of his eyes despite the blindfold that had expertly been placed there.

A third set of hands reached out from the darkness, and Jack straightened as well as he could, knowing that this time it was pain, not humiliation, that was intended.  The man was good, Jack had to give him that, he knew exactly where and how to apply pressure to cause pain but not permanent injury, damage but not bleeding.  It was the other two roughs who gave him the bloody nose; it was this man, this pro, that could cause him to scream his throat raw into the gag, while the others laughed at how easily the great pirate was brought low.

Now the pro jabbed his hand into Jack's shoulder, to all appearances merely turning him around to redirect his stumbling journey from man to man, while Jack swayed at the agony as his collar bone inched away from its normal position, allowed to snap back an instant before Jack was certain that it would shatter into a million pieces.  A cuff to the side of the neck and a rough hand in his back sent him sprawling to the ground, unable to breath, his right side numb while his kidneys and other internal organs screamed in agony.

"Quickly!  The Commodore is coming!"  The warning was no sooner heard than Jack felt the sting of a blade nicking his wrist and his hands were free, though he could no more have moved them than he could have danced on the ceiling at the moment.  The gag was peeled out of his mouth, and he coughed, spitting blood out onto the floor.  Blood trickling onto his chest told him that they had cut the noose from around his neck, but that side of his neck was still numb from the last blow he had received.  Someone dragged him to his feet and tossed him down the stairs, a faint snap and a slow throb warning Jack that he had finally broken something in his wrist.  A clattering on the stairs told him that the four men were following him down.

One grabbed his hair and pulled him into a semi-seated position and removed the blindfold with a flick of his wrist, the sudden light lancing through his skull and turning the low throb to a burning ache.  A young man with blond hair and sky-blue eyes knelt in front of him and gently but quickly wiped the blood off his body before grabbing his dirty shirt and coat, which had been set aside so that no blood would be obvious on them, and pulling them onto the unresisting pirate.

Jack supposed that if he wanted to resist, it should be now, but his right hand and foot still tingled dangerously, warning that the nerves still weren't functional, and if he fought the young man, one of the other two would take over, and he really didn't think he could handle that at the moment.  Blinking against the haze in front of his vision, Jack locked eyes as best as he could with the younger man, willing a change to have occurred . . .but none had.

The blue eyes stared back at him, troubled, but not troubled enough.  The lad didn't have the heart to participate in the beat-the-pirate game, but he wore his red coat proudly, and to keep from being called a coward, he kept watch for the Commodore.  The lad wouldn't really have been all that bad if he hadn't been so idealistic, so certain that as a pirate, Jack deserved anything that might be done to him . . .he actually reminded Jack a bit of Will Turner, nearly three years ago, caught between his lifelong beliefs and the bitter truth that his father could be a pirate and still a good man.  Will had crossed that bridge and survived, intact, a better man . . .Jack wondered if the loss of Brian Lanebridge's idealism would also be precipitated by him, though if it was, it would probably be when the man saw him hanging from the gallows for a crime he honestly hadn't committed, standing so proudly next to the Commodore in his blue coat and powdered wig . . .

The Commodore . . .Jack had never believed he would be glad to see Norrington, but his opinion had changed drastically over the past seven days.  At least when Norrington was present, he was assured of food, and because the Commodore was wont to drop by unexpectedly during the day, the little torture-sessions were usually kept short.

Still, it wasn't quite the homecoming he had imagined it would be.

A hand tightened around his broken wrist, and Jack staggered to his feet, biting back a whimper with what remained of his strength as he was hurled into his cell again.  For a moment Jack merely lay on the floor, winded and in agony, his head pounding so hard that it hurt to think.  His eyes instinctively swept the small, familiar cells and corridor, taking in the three red coats, two watching him with malicious delight, and Brian with his almost comic expression of mixed loathing and pity.  Jack felt a grin start to form, and closed his eyes, willing the darkness back down where he had always kept it.  Opening his eyes again, they locked hazily on the tall man standing in the corner.  Stephan Silverfirth, the man who had brought him to this . . .the man with the well-trained hands . . .it always surprised Jack how tall he was, as he seemed to be much shorter during the pass-the-pirate game, but that was probably just his own perceptions skewed by one too many knocks on the head . . .and neck . . .and stomach . . .and chest . . .and arms . . .and legs . . .

Jack felt his mouth turn upward into a feral snarl as he stared into the gray eyes, hard and cruel beneath his jet-black hair.  He couldn't help the small release as he stared at the author of his misery . . .a man he had never laid eyes on until a week ago.

Footsteps sounded on the steps, and Jack attempted to struggle into a seated position, falling to the side with a low moan as the broken bones in his wrist gritted against one another.  He closed his eyes again to ride out the wave of nausea that the movement generated . . .and opened them again in surprise and . . .hope?  No, hope would be too dangerous, but the emotion was there nonetheless . . .as a voice called his name.

"Jack."  A true smiled quirked at the corners of his mouth as he watched William and Elizabeth Turner step up beside the commodore.  "Jack . . .how could you?"

The hope turned to ashes in his mouth, and Jack fought grimly against the darkness that rose again, perilously close to the surface, gazing in resignation at the accusation and betrayal in William Turner's dark eyes.  There would be no help this time . . .no help, and no hope.

He would swing from the gallows for a crime he really, truly, honestly never committed.


	2. Chapter 2: Old Friends

Disclaimer:  Maybe now you understand the first one . . .

AN:  First time writing or posting, though I've been reading fan fic for about two and a half years now, so please be kind.  Constructive criticism welcomed, suggestions welcomed (especially when concerning a better title), flames will be forwarded to Barbosa in that deepest circle of hell that Jack talked about unless they can be put to better use . . .

**A Taste of Misery**

**Part 2**

The words seemed to echo through the cell, an accusation not just for the accused crime—which he really wasn't guilty of—but for every other crime he had ever committed.  Lowering his eyes, Jack felt again the stab of hot agony as Barbosa ripped his sword from its lodging in his stomach and stabbed it through Jack's own, speeding the curse to completion.  He saw the warm blood trickle down in a steadily growing stream from where he had shot Barbosa . . .and another stream of blood, even harder and faster, but the wound was from a sword, not a bullet, and the creature that lay dying was neither cruel nor cursed nor old . . .Jack shook his head, the beads clanking in his matted dark hair as he glared at the Turner's, the darkness rising again, hungry . . .it took all his strength to push it back.

"Jack . . .I thought that you were . . .a good man . . ."  Damn the boy, but he looked as though someone was ripping his heart apart, though it was a smoldering anger that Jack saw in his eyes.

"A good man . . .we tried to warn you, William, Elizabeth . . .one good deed does not absolve a man of a lifetime of evil . . .nor does two . . .nor can they change a heart that's blacker than a witches midnight . . ."  The Commodore stood ram-rod straight, staring down at Jack with loathing in his eyes, and the darkness rose again, stronger than Jack had  ever felt it.  Ignoring the pain in his wrist, he scrambled to his feet . . .and immediately staggered sideways, where he slid down the wall into a more natural seated position, which, though not the intended feat, was still better than kneeling like a petitioner at their feet.

"Jack, are you all right?"  The soft voice was Elizabeth's, and all six men turned to stare at her in shock, which didn't seem to perturb her in the least.

"He's probably just drunk, Elizabeth."  Will responded, though Jack barely heard it.  He was too busy staring at Elizabeth's abdomen, ascertaining that it wasn't the continued haze in front of his vision that caused the bulge.

No, definitely not . . .Will was to have a child, then.

"Aye, drink up, me hearties, yo ho!"  Jack flashed a feral grin at Will, his hold on the darkness weakening again.  "So ye're ta hav' a chil', Will Turner."

"Aye.  To think we would have named the child Jack, if it had been a boy—"  Will never had a chance to finish the sentence, as Jack flung himself upright and at the bars with a strength he didn't think he had, grabbing hold of Will's shirt with both hands, heedless of his throbbing wrist.

"Don't ye e'er name a child after me, William Turner.  Don' ye e'er—"  Jack stumbled backwards in pain as Norrington brought the flat of his blade down on his wrists.  "Please, Will, please . . ."  Jack almost apologized for what he had done, but the darkness was raging inside his head, and what shards of his pride there were left balked at the thought.

"Don't worry, Jack.  We weren't planning on it anymore . . .not after what you did."  Will grabbed Elizabeth and turned, heading for the stairs.  As he put his foot out to take the first step, he hesitated and turned, returning to where Jack knelt again in front of the bars, his eyes vacant and unfocused.  The sight sent a thrill of fear through Will's heart, but he quickly shoved it away, concentrating on why Jack was back here now.  Leaning down, shoving away the Commodore's arm when he would have stopped him, he stared Jack straight in the eye.

"You said my father was a good man.  You also said he was your friend.  You're obviously lying about one of those, because he couldn't have been both."  Jack's head snapped back as though he had been slapped, and Will stood quickly and returned to help his wife up the stairs, a mixture of exhilaration and guilt twisting in his gut at the thought of what he had just done.

Commodore Norrington followed the couple up the stairs, motioning for the young, blond, blue-eyed guard to follow him.


	3. Chapter 3: Something Not Right

Disclaimer:  Let's see, what I would do if I owned them . . .not get seriously indebted trying to pay for college, for starters . . .but since I don't, and only borrow them temporarily, returning them slightly the worse for wear, we'll not do anything nutty like suing me, eh?

AN:  First time writing or posting, though I've been reading fan fic for about two and a half years now, so please be kind.  Constructive criticism welcomed, suggestions welcomed (especially when concerning a better title), flames will be forwarded to Barbosa in that deepest circle of hell that Jack talked about unless they can be put to better use . . .

**A Taste of Misery**

**Part 3**

Brian Lanebridges stood ramrod straight, sweat running down his back as the Commodore led him into the office.  He wasn't sure exactly what was going to happen, but he doubted it would be something that he liked.

Norrington settled behind his desk, leaning his elbows on the desk and fixing Brian with his stare while gesturing the young man to take a seat across the desk from him.

"You've been here how long?"

Brian sat as straight as he possibly could.  "Approximately six months, sir."

"Yes, that's what I thought.  During this time, I have seen that you are a fair judge of people, Brian."

The silence stretched as Brian realized that Norrington wanted a reply.  "Uh . . .I . . .I suppose so, sir.  As good as anyone."

"Yes, definitely, but I'd also say better than most."  Norrington's eyes swept over the nervous lad.

"You weren't here the last two times Sparrow was imprisoned here."

Brian nodded.

"You had never heard of Jack Sparrow until rumors of the incident at Port Jade became common."

Again, Brian nodded.

"You never laid eyes on him before they brought him here two days ago."

Again, Brian nodded.

"I assume that the answers are the same for Silverfirth and his servant."

Brian nodded yet again, wondering where this was leading, his neck beginning to ache from the short, military nods.

"Good.  Then tell me what you think of the situation."

"I . . .I . . .sir, I . . .uh . . ."

"Calm down, lad, I'm not going to take your head off.  I just want an honest opinion from an outsider."

Brian hesitated a moment more, balancing truth and loyalty, eyeing the commodore warily before deciding that it did indeed seem likely that the man was seeking truth.

"Sir, I've seen pirates and thieves and murderers and rapists during my service, but I've never seen anyone like Sparrow."  Brian paused, cocking his head.  "From what I've seen of him, I would normally believe that he didn't have the heart to do . . .that."

"Yes, go on."

"Yet Silverfirth and his servant both swear that he's the man, him and his bloody cursed ship."

"The ship isn't cursed anymore, Brian, but please continue."

"I . . .sir, I don't like Silverfirth or the brown-haired man very well.  There's something . . .dark about them, a kind of savage glee and cold hatred that I always used to associate with pirates, but that is, at the moment, missing from Jack Sparrow."

Norrington stared at the young man, still sitting ramrod straight in the chair, and then nodded slowly.  "I thank you for your time and your input, Brian.  You may return to duty."

The commodore rose as the boy rushed out as quickly as protocol would allow.  He strode to the open window and stared out at the harbor, where ships of every size and description lay at anchor . . .every size and description save the one that he needed.

The boy had struggled to put into words what the Commodore himself had felt, despite his act in front of the Turners.  He had wanted to see the pirate's reaction to them, and, just as importantly, their reaction to the pirate.

It had been a bitter lesson, learning that justice was not always done by the law, that the right thing to do could not always be the just thing to do.  It was a lesson that cost him the hand of the woman who had steadily claimed his heart since the day that he met her, a precocious young girl enamored of adventure who had steadily bloomed into a vibrant young woman.  Oh, how he envied Turner.

Oh, yes, a bitter lesson, but he had learned it well, if slowly, and there was something wrong with what was happening.  He had heard tales of the _Pearl_ over the years, and while he supposed that they should bring him guilt, none of them really had . . .in fact, most of them had been rather amusing . . .until Jade.  Much as he disliked the pirate, Sparrow did seem to be better than most of his ilk.  What happened at Jade didn't seem at all like something he would have done . . .in fact, it seemed like nothing that _any_ pirate would have done, but what other options were there?

Everything that Jack Sparrow had done—or, rather, not done—during his stay as he awaited the gallows added to Norrington's feeling of unease.  There was something not right with the man.

Then there were Silverfirth and his scarred servant.  His feelings for Silverfirth were even more strongly divided.  The man had been of importance at Port Jade, and Norrington had met him before, though not the man who traveled with him now, a man of medium build, brown-haired and brown-eyed, with three scars down one cheek, most likely from a lost duel.  He should be able to trust Silverfirth, his intellect and experience told him, but his instincts cried out that not all was right with the man.

Where was that bloody pirate ship?

Norrington had expected to see the _Pearl_, or at least hear of her presence in the waters, almost immediately.  The crew had already proven their loyalty to Sparrow by breaking the code and returning for him during the fiasco of an execution.

Why would they abandon Sparrow now?

Were they dead?  Was that what had caused the change in the man?

Or had Sparrow snapped, ordered something so horrible that even bloody pirates couldn't live with themselves in the aftermath?

Was that why he was alone at Port Jackson, where Silverfirth captured him after searching for five months?

Norrington sighed, pounding his hand lightly on  the windowsill before returning to his desk, unanswerable questions flitting through his mind, distracting him from what needed to be done to keep Port Royal running smoothly.

Finally giving up in frustration, he determined to call on the Turners in the morning, and see if they had sensed anything amiss.

In the meantime, he would just have to live with the queasy sensation in the pit of his stomach that told him all was not right the world.


	4. Chapter 4: Darkness Rising

Disclaimer:  I still don't own them, and will return them when I'm done . . .um . . .playing with them.  Promise.  (Note that condition upon return was not noted.)

AN:  First time writing or posting, though I've been reading fan fic for about two and a half years now, so please be kind.  Constructive criticism welcomed, suggestions welcomed (especially when concerning a better title), flames will be forwarded to Barbosa in that deepest circle of hell that Jack talked about unless they can be put to better use . . .

**A Taste of Misery**

**Part 4**

Jack curled on the floor at the back of his cell, drawing shuddering breath after shuddering breath into his lungs.  His entire body burned with agony, his head throbbing as if it would explode with each clenching of his heart.  He supposed that the beatings would only get worse tomorrow, as the guards knew that they would lose their play-toy to the gallows in two days.

He had entertained hopes for at least a reprieve from the beatings when Norrington gestured the boy out, but obviously the lad had a basic understanding of politics in a foreign garrison.  Commanders came and went—well, usually, though Norrington was obviously trying to make himself unique by staying put.  Getting in their good graces couldn't hurt, but to do that by betraying others of your rank—that was the kind of stunt that could keep a man from ever commanding a post, or, if he did command, could get him shot in the back by his own people.  It was suicide to alienate the common soldiers, especially if you were one of them.

So Jack Sparrow was dragged from his cell and blindfolded, ignoring the pain as his arms were bound and the noose again placed around his neck.  He thought he had managed to hold his head high for a full five minutes before he started to wear down, but the end result had been the same as in the afternoon.

He laughed, the sound coming out somewhere between a sob and a moan, at the thought that he was suffering and dying for a crime he hadn't committed—a crime that he had found horrendous when he heard about it.  Even bloody pirates didn't stoop that low . . .well, most bloody pirates . . ._his _bloody pirates . . .

He probably could have handled the torture part—the dying part was stretching it a bit—except for Will.

Will Turner . . .

The only son of Bootstrap Bill . . .

A man that Jack had dared to think of as a friend . . .

He had never had many true friends, and after the mutiny, his ability to trust people had dropped even lower.  He _knew_ many people, had many acquaintances, but there were only four people that he considered true friends, four people that had snuck past his guard and into some portion of his heart that he hadn't managed to cauterize despite his lifestyle and his pledges.

Ana-Marie.  A woman who met him with a slap more often than not . . .and had been there with a blanket and his ship when he desperately needed both.

Gibbs.  A good, solid man, Jack was never sure why he had turned to piracy, but he was a welcome addition to the crew.  He added a counter-balance to Jack's swaggering semi-lunacy, and he was always good with a rum and an ear when the need arose.

Elizabeth Turner.  The one woman he had met more than once who hadn't slapped him . . .though, granted, she had been ready to try on several occasions.  She had tricked him . . .and burned the rum . . .but she hadn't laughed at his sentimentality, and to the best of his knowledge she had never told anyone exactly what happened that night, when his guard fell completely, not even Will.  He had been willing to fire that shot at Barbosa, knowing that it wouldn't kill the man, in an effort to save her life.  He sometimes felt the collateral for that rescue had been his own sanity—but Will had done what needed to be done, and an injury that couldn't kill the undead was fatal to the living.

William Turner.  Son of William "Bootstrap Bill" Turner, one of the finest men to ever sail the waters under any flag.  Jack had thought that Bootstrap betrayed him with the others in the mutiny, and hearing that hadn't been the case had eased his heart, though he felt a twinge of sympathy for the man who more than likely spent ten years in an undead hell deep underwater, most of them tied to a cannon, until the release of the curse brought him back to a cold, crushing, suffocating death.

Will was the kind of man that you met once in a lifetime, innocent but not naïve, gentle but still able to use force, a fine friend or a bitter enemy.  Once Will's idealism had started to wear off, Jack had found himself drawn to the young man and his cause, despite his best efforts to the contrary.  He had _died_ for the man.

Unconsciously his uninjured hand slid down to the spot where the sword had pierced his chest, a journey that he knew intimately, entrance and exit, though it had left no scars.  Barbosa was right—once dead and under the curse, all pain, all sensation died.  He had felt that deathblow, though, felt the cold of the steel as it froze his heart.  He had covered well, grinning and flicking the cursed medallion along his fingers . . .but he would never forget that feeling, never, for as long as he lived.

Which might not be that much longer now.

He had died once for Will, and the lad had repaid him in full with his rescue at the gallows, making them even, and, Jack had thought, friends.

_Remember your place, Will Turner._

_I know my place.  It's right here, between you and Jack._

Now Will didn't even give him a chance to defend himself, not that he had been entirely coherent at the time, but shoot him for having a problem shrugging of the effects of a weeks worth of beatings . . .

He supposed that he should tell the Commodore what was happening, but he had seen the way Norrington looked at him earlier.  The man obviously regretted letting Jack go three years ago, and, if he believed the stories about Jade, then it was understandable.  Hell, if he had done it, he could even understand what the guards and Silverfirth were doing.

But he hadn't.

Still, if two men gave a perfect description of Jack and the _Pearl_, one of whom was at one time a Very Important Ransom Prospect at Port Jade, he could understand his guards believing that he was guilty.

What he didn't understand was why Silverfirth believed it was him in the first place.  It was utter madness.

_This is either madness, or brilliance._

_It's a fine line that can distinguish between the two._

Jack knew about madness.  He courted it, cloaked himself in it, used it as an ally.  He smiled to himself, remembering Will Turner doing his impression of the antics that Jack used to survive.  His questionable sanity led his enemies to underestimate him, and provided entertainment for his friends and crew in between raids.  The madness was harmless when he was in control, an added weapon in his bag of tricks.

And Jack was always in control.

During a firefight, when he was drunk, when he was fighting cursed undead pirates for control of his ship, he was always in control.  He always knew exactly what it was that he was trying to do, and had a rough understanding of how he planned to get there.  Granted, things often went wrong—such as ladies falling off forts and nearly drowning, or idiot boys allowing their hearts to dictate their actions—but he could deal with those problems when they arose.  Even when he awaited the gallows, he was in control, because he knew exactly what and why it was that he was waiting.

His control was slipping, though, had been slipping since that day—could it only be a month ago?—since the sighing of a perfectly balanced blade as it flew through the air and the unique crunch as it bit through human flesh had shown him that things could still go horribly wrong.

Now he realized how close to the brink he could truly drag himself, as his pretending grew teeth and bit down, a swirl of darkness that threatened to drag away all he had worked for, a blood-seeking monster that would stop of nothing, destroying all he held precious.

Not that he had anything precious left.

His crew had disappeared, and he didn't dare to ask what had happened for fear that he get an answer, truthful or otherwise, that would wreck what little control he did have.

Will believed him a monster.

Elizabeth would be too preoccupied now to worry about a pirate she hadn't seen since her wedding over two years ago.

Norrington would have his head for the slight that had been done his honor when Jack supposedly committed the atrocities at Port Jade.

With a whimper and a sob, Jack curled tighter around himself as though to ward off invisible blows as sleep came to claim him, the last few walls against the darkness crumbling into dust.


	5. Chapter 5: A Crime Unveiled

Disclaimer:  I don't own any pirates, though if I did, several sequels would already be in the making . . .if they had all survived the first one . . .

AN:  First time writing or posting, though I've been reading fan fic for about two and a half years now, so please be kind.  Constructive criticism welcomed, suggestions welcomed (especially when concerning a better title), flames will be forwarded to Barbosa in that deepest circle of hell that Jack talked about unless they can be put to better use . . .

**A Taste of Misery**

**Part 5**

"Will . . .Will, please come to bed."  Elizabeth reached out to her husband, a gentle entreaty in her voice that brought Will into the bedroom instantly, where he gently wrapped his arms around his wife, mindful of her growing abdomen protruding from her robe, the thin white silk nightgown nearly glowing in the gloom.  "Oh, Will . . .why are you doing this to yourself?"

Will stiffened noticeably.  "What do you mean?"

"Screaming at Jack, pacing, dredging up old fears about your 'tainted blood'.  I thought we were past all that."  Elizabeth gently kneaded his shoulders until some of the tension drained out of his body.

"You haven't heard about Jade . . .about what he did . . ."

"Through no fault of my own, William Turner.  The fact that you tried to practically place me under house arrest five months ago when you found out that I was pregnant, that couldn't have anything to do with my ignorance?"

Will smiled faintly at her words, remembering well her reactions to all his entreaties to stay inside and rest.  He had learned within a week what Jack felt like, getting slapped across the face every time he met a girl . . .only his had been one girl . . .but he could still sympathize with the "I'm not sure if I deserved that" part.  The smile faded as he considered how to answer her question.

"Will . . .what did he do?"

"Just over five months ago, Port Jade was attacked by pirates.  This wasn't just a raid, though—it was a slaughter.  The port had minimal protection, as a large portion of the fort had been destroyed in an earlier battle against raiders.  Once the entire fort was destroyed and half the town burning, the pirates landed."  Will paused, closing his eyes, and Elizabeth hugged him to her.

"They slaughtered everyone, Elizabeth, while they looted the town.  The port was still relatively new, but there was still enough blood for the streets to run red with.  I talked with the sailors who came in on the Juggernaut.  Men had been hacked to pieces . . .women skinned . . .children hung upside down from the roofs of their homes and cut until they bled to death . . .pregnant women had the children ripped from their wombs . . .the priest had been stripped, whipped, and crucified on the cross in his own church . . ."  Elizabeth continued to knead his shoulders, pulling him as close as she dared as his voice broke.

"When the Juggernaut reached port, the stench was enough to inform them of what had happened.  They found Silverfirth kneeling in front of his decapitated wife, holding his disemboweled four-year-old daughter, his servant hovering in the background.  Silverfirth didn't speak for two days, and when he did it was give a description of Jack Sparrow and the _Pearl_—a perfect description, one that was backed up by his servant, Alsworn."

"If they killed everyone, how did Silverfirth survive?"

"He had been out riding, and returned when the cannon-fire started.  He was met at the door to his house by a pirate with black, bearded hair, a double-beard, a red bandana, and the brand of a pirate below a tattoo of a sparrow in flight.  His family was already dead.  The pirate shot at him, and the bullet grazed his shoulder.  Bleeding and in shock, he ran back to where he had left Alsworn with the horses, and they made their escape.  When they returned, the entire port was in ruins and the people dead."

"He was close enough to see the tattoo when the man shot at him?"

"Yes."

"Will . . .you saw Jack make a kill shot after ten years of not firing his weapon, and you honestly believe that he would miss that badly if the man was that close to him?"  Elizabeth turned him around, gently tugging off his shirt.

"I don't know.  Having a four-year-old child's blood all over you might make it more difficult to aim correctly."

"Will . . .Will, look at me."  Elizabeth turned him around again to face her.  "I've read every one of Jack's adventures, and I've heard some his own mouth, and never once has Jack killed an innocent once he has the upper hand."  Will opened his mouth to protest, and was shushed by her finger on his lips.  "Never once, Will."  She gently tugged him towards the bed.

"Why would Silverfirth lie, Elizabeth?  I don't want to believe it's true, but . . .it's been over two years since we saw him, Elizabeth, and that was only briefly."

"I don't know . . .why did Norrington allow them to break Jack's wrist?"

"What?!"  Will stood up abruptly from the seat he had just taken on the edge of their bed.

"Didn't you notice the way it bent when Norrington slammed the flat of his sword against it?  I'm quite certain it's broken, Will."  Will remained standing by the bed.  "Will, I'm exhausted.  Please come to bed.  We can talk to Norrington again tomorrow, and maybe we together we can come up with some reasons for all this."  The pleading look in her eyes bought a small smile and a nod from Will, and he quickly changed before slipping into the bed and settling in, holding her close to him.

He awoke before dawn to the cool feel of steel against his throat.


	6. Chapter 6: Reunions

Disclaimer:  I own Jack but he doesn't own me . . .or maybe that's I own Will but he doesn't own me . . .oh, now I remember . . .At the moment, Jack and Will own me, but I don't own either of them.  Oh, so sad.

AN:  Thanks to reviewers.  To a new author (at least this one) each good review brings a state of ecstasy unto itself.

**A Taste of Misery**

**Part 6**

The blade slid slowly along his neck, applying enough pressure to ensure his awareness of it without biting deep enough to draw blood.

"William Turner, you need to be more careful.  I know this house is defensible, considering I helped build it, but the locks don't work if ye don't set them."  The blade pulled back from his neck, and his straining eyes discerned the silhouette of a woman . . .a woman wearing a man's clothing.

"Ana-Marie."  Will could feel Elizabeth stir next to him, and tightened his arm around her, whether to comfort her or protect her, even he wasn't certain.  It was a mixture of welcome and trepidation that rose in his throat, for if the _Pearl_ had been the ship at Jade, then surely this woman had been part of the crew.

"Aye, Will.  Where's Jack?"

Anger flared inside him, and he jolted upright in bed to face her, making sure that the sheets were entwined firmly about his hips.

"He's in Norrington's brig, right where he belongs."

The blade reappeared at his throat, the edge glinting in what little light there was in the room.

"I don't appreciate talk like that, Will Turner, and neither will the rest of the _Pearl_'s crew.  When we heard Jack had been brought here, we thought at least he would be among friends."  The edge pressed deeper, but Will refused to pull back, expecting to feel the warm trickle of blood down his chest at any instant.  "I guess that I was wrong."  The blade snapped back into the scabbard with a small scrape as the female pirate turned to leave, anger evident in her step.

"Wait!  Don't go."  Elizabeth had risen from the bed, her white silk nightgown falling to her knees.  Ana-Marie turned, opened her mouth, paused, eyed the bulge at Elizabeth's abdomen and finally nodded, standing stiffly in the middle of the small bedroom.

"I don't believe Jack's guilty, Ana-Marie.  I think he's in trouble, and he needs all the friends . . .and help . . .he can find."

"That's why the _Pearl_ is here, m'lady.  She's come to claim her Captain, and she'll do it in any way necessary."  The pirate glared at Elizabeth, daring her to contradict, but it was Will who spoke.

"Did Jack order the massacres at Jade?"  The glare transferred itself to Will, and he shrank back, grief etching itself into his features as he remembered everything he had said to Jack.  "If it wasn't Jack, then why is Silverfirth saying that it was?"

"Because he wasn't there, and he can't very well say _why _he wasn't there.  Someone told him that it was Jack and the _Pearl_, and he believed them."

"How do you know Silverfirth wasn't there?"  Elizabeth asked as she settled on the edge of the bed.

"Why do you think we're behind Jack instead of in front?  If a common cargo ship can make the run from Jackson to Royal in five days, do you think it would take the _Pearl _seven?"  The derision in her voice shocked both Turners.

"You stopped at Jade to see if you could find out anything about what happened."  Will's voice was devoid of emotion.

"Aye, we stopped at Jade, and we found something that we hadn't expected.  Not all was dead at Jade.  A wraith floated through the graves, a beauty that would have tempted any man, but one whose mind has long left her.  She led us to her home, a pretty enough place some twenty minutes on horse from the port, where she's lived for the past six years since she was driven from Port Jade by a drunken mob bent on her death for witchcraft.  It seems she was looking for her lover, the Silver Man, who disappeared the night that the thunder came from the clear sky."  Ana-Marie sneered.  "Her description fit Silverfirth perfectly.  He can't have seen Jack, because he was out seeding other pastures at the time of the attack.  Besides," the sneer deepened, "what happened at Port Jade wasn't the work of pirates."

"What?"  Will flicked his gaze back to the pirate's eyes.

"You've seen how pirates work, Will.  Even Barbosa and his crew didn't have the time or the inclination to round up all the people and kill them.  In a land raid, you sow chaos and reap the rewards.  At sea, then the nasty ones like Barbosa will kill all the men, but it's just too much work for too little reward on land."

"Then who was it?"  Will's hands had clenched into fists, and Elizabeth silently reached over and began rubbing his shoulders.

"Only two groups of people wreak wholesale slaughter like that—mercenaries and assassins."

"It would take a small fortune to pay enough people to wipe out an entire port like that!"  Elizabeth replied.

"Aye, maybe, but if you use the loot collected from the raid as part of the payment, then the chances are there's a great many people who _could _afford it—but not a great many that _would_ order it."

"If Silverfirth wasn't there, how did he get shot?"

"There's more than one way to get an injury that resembles a graze, and being injured would give him even more proof that whoever he accused was guilty."

"Why?  Why would he choose Jack to accuse?"  All of the energy seemed to have left the young man, his hands resting limply in his lap.

"We don't know, and I really don't care.  I'm here for the captain of the _Pearl_—we won't see him swing for a crime he didn't commit."  She grinned slightly.  "Not when there's plenty that we have committed for them to choose from."

Elizabeth frowned slightly.  "Despite a somewhat overprotective husband, I've been keeping as close an eye as I can on what's been happening with the _Pearl_.  You seem to be doing well for yourselves."

"Aye.  We've a fine boat, a solid crew, and a captain that plans well when he keeps his feet in reality."  Elizabeth smiled, remembering Gibbs words from what seemed a lifetime ago.

_You're daft._

_Aye, daft like Jack._

"How many have died?"  Will's voice was solid ice.

"No more than had to.  Three years running, and only fourteen deaths on her name, though she brings home more than any other ship that hits port in Tortuga.  Seven deaths in firefights, seven by Jack's hand."  Will straightened perceptively and she glared at him again.  "The first three were cowards—they went at his back when we had fair control of the ship.  The fourth was a captain who insisted on a duel for his ship.  The next two were cowards also."

"That's only six."  Will remarked acidly.

"Aye, that's six.  The seventh isn't for me to tell, though it's the reason we made port in Jackson in the first place."

"Ana-Marie . . .please.  We want to help.  Tell us what's bothering him."  The pirate turned away, a far-off look in her eyes that told Will she was remembering something.

Slowly, the female pirate shook her head.  "Nay.  'Tis not for me t' tell ye.  Jack made that clear enou'."  Another shake of her head dispelled the last vestiges of reminiscence from her face.  "So ye will help me bring Jack home?"

Before the Turners could respond, a knock at the door announced another, more polite, visitor.


	7. Chapter 7: Striking Back

Disclaimer:  I return all play-toys to their rightful owners . . .eventually . . .in a form at least slightly reminiscent of how I found them . . .maybe . . .

AN: Thanks to all those reading.  Double thanks to all those reviewing.  If anyone has problems with the direction my story is taking or any suggestions, please inform me.

**A Taste of Misery**

**Part 7**

Jack reclined at the back of his cell, his right wrist, swollen now, resting against his chest.  There was no obvious outward change in his behavior, but something about his eyes warned the world that things wouldn't go as smoothly anymore.

Jack Sparrow had stopped caring.

The cell door clanged open, just as it did every other morning.  The lad had already disappeared up the stairs to wherever he went to hide and play lookout while his two companions had their jollies.

Today was going to be different.

One man reached down to pull Jack onto his feet, gripping him by the shirtfront and hauling him upright.  He allowed them to pull him through the cell door and towards the stairs before he moved.

Grinning, he stopped, jerking his still-throbbing head backwards and laughing slightly at the satisfying crunch that told him he had managed to break—or at least badly injure—the other man's nose.  Taking a step towards the other red-coat, he swung as hard as he could with his left hand—and missed completely as a hand grabbed his shoulder and shoved causing him to stumble.

The grin faltered as he stared at Silverfirth, understanding beginning to dawn in his eyes.  He put up as solid a resistance as he could against the other man, but it was rather difficult to argue with a rifle butt when you were one-handed and exhausted.

In the end, he was dragged back into his cell, bloody and barely conscious, every inch of his body screaming in agony, just as he had known it would when he started the battle.  He had never planned on getting away, or getting anything, really, but more pain and perhaps the satisfaction of knowing that he had drawn blood.

He had gotten more, though.

In the instant when Silverfirth shoved him, he had known why they blindfolded him each time.

It wasn't simply to keep him from seeing the blows when they came.

It was to keep him from realizing that the three people who toyed with him were not the three people that he had always believed they were.

The shove was too inept, the hands too large, the palms not calloused enough.

Silverfirth was not his silent tormented, the pro that reveled in causing him agony.

His enemy was a man who feared to let him see his face.

The thought was still floating on his mind, distant and full of meaning, when the rich blackness of unconsciousness rose to meet him, dissolving the pain in the textured hues of nothingness.


	8. Chapter 8: New Acquaintances

Disclaimer:  Still not mine, no matter how hard I wish . . .though I suppose I can claim a small portion after having spent much hard-earned money to see the movie three times, with the prospect of spending even more when it comes out on DVD . . .

AN:  Again thanks.  Still my first fic.  Still nervous.  Updating as quickly as possible.

**A Taste of Misery**

**Part 8**

Will and Elizabeth dressed as quickly as possible, calling out for their visitor to please be patient, while Ana-Marie slid back into the shadows, becoming as inconspicuous as possible, attempting not to laugh as Will tripped and fell trying to put his trousers on as he hopped towards the front door, which he opened while still in the process of tying his brown hair back into a respectable pony-tail.

"Commodore," he said rather loudly, giving Elizabeth and Ana-Marie fair warning of who was about to enter, "we didn't expect you today."

"I know, Mr. Turner, and I apologize for any inconvenience at the rather early hour, but I rather desired to talk to you and your wife for a few moments.  May I enter?"  Will glanced over to see Elizabeth fully clothed and nodding.  He stepped aside warily, wondering exactly how the meeting between the pirate and the fort commander would go.

"Commodore, it's so pleasant to see you again."  Elizabeth smiled, reaching over to grasp his hand lightly in greeting.  "You know that you are always welcome here, though I must admit the hour perplexes me."

"It is after dawn, m'lady, and the subject that I wish to talk to you about does not have that much time left."  Norrington looked distinctly uncomfortable.

"Jack?  You wish to talk to us about Jack?"  Will moved to stand beside his wife, his arm reaching around her waist as though on instinct.  There was something noticeably different about him this morning.  Where yesterday he had responded to Sparrow's name with something akin to hatred and the pain of betrayal, today he said it easily, almost . . .eagerly.  Stiffening, Norrington turned around . . .

And found himself face-to-face with a blade.

"I was wondering when you were going to show up.  The ship doesn't sail as fast when it's not cursed, I presume?"  The pirate stepped out of the shadows, circling Norrington warily.

"She's as fast as she ever was.  She simply made a small detour."

"A female pirate?  How strange."  Norrington paused, eyes flicking over the woman before him, sizing her up.  "I was rather surprised that they managed to get Sparrow into port.  I expected the _Pearl_ would attack on the water, if she was going to attack at all."

"We're pirates, not fools, Commodore, and three ships of the Royal Navy acting as guardians could be a deterrent."

"So you are here for Sparrow."  Norrington clasped his hands behind his back.  "Good."

The sword dropped, nearly scraping the floor.

"What?!"  Norrington felt the corners of his mouth twitch upwards as the three chorused the word, shock evident in their faces.

"Good.  I don't believe he's responsible for Jade, and I won't hang a man for a crime he didn't commit when there are so very many that he has.  I don't believe we've met before, though you obviously know me."  He held out his hand.

Ana-Marie clasped it quickly and dropped it, staring uncertainly at the man.  "If you're looking for a brand, Commodore, you won't find it.  I've never been caught."

"Ah, well.  Now, if you'd kindly put the sword away, we can talk about this whole mess."

A few minutes later, all four were seated around the small table in the main room.

"Now, I believe that you mentioned a detour that the _Pearl_ took on her way here?  That wouldn't perhaps have been a detour to Jade, would it?"

"Aye, it was, and we found that Silverfirth wasn't at home the night of the attack.  There's a woman in her twenties, quite mad but quite beautiful, who lives in a small house perhaps twenty minutes from the port.  I'm sure you understand where the story goes from there."

Norrington sighed, slumping slightly in his seat.  "I knew Jade was a large island, but I hadn't thought to check to see if anyone lived outside the port.  So it wasn't Silverfirth that saw anyone.  It must have been that servant of his . . .no wonder the man avoids Sparrow like the plague, if he truly believes it was he who attacked Jade."

"Servant?"  Ana-Marie leaned forward.

"An inconspicuous man, brown-haired, brown-eyed, quite good at remaining unnoticed.  The only distinguishing thing about him is the scars."

"Scars?"  The word sounded almost like a hiss.  "Three horizontal scars below his left eye?"

"Yes.  You know of him?"  It was Norrington's turn to lean forward.

"Aye."  The pirate slumped back in her seat, one hand reaching up to rub her temple.  "Jack Sparrow, you bloody black-hearted fool, can't you ever make any pathetic enemies?"


	9. Chapter 9: A Momentary Peace

Disclaimer:  I'm still hoping, but last time I checked I was still a poor high-school girl who didn't even own the bed she sees for perhaps five hours a night . . .

AN:  My entire family thinks I'm nuts.  I thought this would be a good way to burn some nervous energy, but I think I'm more high-strung now than when I started . . .and having a lot more fun.  Still a heart-felt thanks to those reviewing, and I try to consider each one as I write the next part . . .though usually I've already posted more chapters before the results come in from the previous posting.  Oh well.  Here's more.

**A Taste of Misery**

**Chapter 9**

Jack opened his eyes to slits, waiting for the burning ache in his skull to recede slightly before attempting to distinguish any objects.  A slight pull on his sleeve and a droning in his ear informed him that someone was in the cell with him.

"This isn't right . . .damn them, the Commodore can't miss this . . .damn yourself, Lanebridges, if you _want_ him to miss this . . ."

The young redcoat had propped him up against the bars and was doing his best to clean the various scrapes and cuts that covered Jack's body.  The pirate sat still for a moment, collecting his thoughts, until the boy picked up his injured wrist, drawing a hiss of pain from between his lips.

The lad's eyes widened perceptively, his already-pale skin whitened to a chalky grayish color, and he jumped what Jack decided must have been at least four inches straight up into the air and six back.

Under any other conditions, it might have been considered hilarious.

For what seemed like an eternity, the pirate's dark gaze locked on the blue eyes of the young redcoat.  It was the lad who dropped his eyes and moved hesitantly forward, picking up the bloody cloth he had dropped in his fright.

"Please just stay still . . .I swear I'm not trying to hurt you . . ."  He spoke as if Jack was a dangerous dog that could turn on him at any moment.  The pirate attempted his trademark grin, decided that hurt too much, started to laugh, decided that _definitely _hurt too much, and settled on a thin half-smile.

The lad continued talking as though he hadn't made any move at all.  "I know this hurts . . .and you've got to be scared, facing the gallows and all . . .and I really don't condone what they're doing, I swear . . ."

"You don't stop it, either."  The young man's blue eyes widened again and he stiffened, though he didn't jump back.

"You don't understand . . .they think you did . . ._that_ . . .and I bloody well should, too . . .Silverfirth is an important man . . .we haven't seen any action here in a long time . . .not anything real since the _Pearl_ raided three years ago . . .they're bored and angry and frustrated and if I told on them they'd turn on _me_ . . ."  Brian stopped babbling as he realized that Jack wasn't listening.  "Did you . . .?"

"No."

"Then why . . ."  Jack almost felt pity for the lad, looking so lost and confused.  Pity was dangerous, though . . .pity could lead to more . . .and Jack wouldn't allow anyone close again . . .no, not again . . .

"I don't know why they believe Jade was my fault, boy, but I've done enough for them to hang me.  They've tried twice already.  Third times a charm."  He paused to catch his breath.  "You're wasting your time, boy.  Come dawn tomorrow I'll be feeding the crows."

Brian backed away slowly, and Jack again felt keenly the fact that he was being treated like a mad dog.

If the lad wanted a mad dog, maybe Jack should give him one.

Angry now, he lurched to his feet . . .and grabbed the bars for support as the world tilted around him.  He was dimly aware of hands resettling him in the corner, and he heard the clang of the cell door closing again.  His vision cleared quickly, and he gazed at the young redcoat, standing as though in indecision outside his cell, specks of blood evident on the white part of his uniform.  For another eternal moment pirate and redcoat stared at each other.

Then the young soldier turned and ran, not the controlled, conditioned run of a soldier, but the frightened scamper of a child whose world was turning upside down.

Swinging his eyes down, Jack saw again the bloody cloth that the lad had been holding.  Picking it up, he felt his own eyes widen in surprise.

A gentleman's handkerchief to clean a pirate captain's wounds.

A familiar mixture of anger and despair rose inside him, tinged this time with guilt, and he pounded his fist once in frustration against the wall, biting back a cry of pain.  Then he settled back into his corner of the cell, biding his time.

The two roughs would come again.

He would fight again.

He would die either at their overeager hands or in the gallows tomorrow.

He determinedly decided that he would not . . ._could_ not . . .care.


	10. Chapter 10: A Tale Unfolds

Disclaimer:  Still dreaming . . .

AN:  Family still questioning sanity—this is probably the third time my dad has asked me if I need professional help.  When will I learn not to let him read my things?  (This is the first story anyone outside my family has read—I've written a 138 word-processed-page story on my own characters that might, eventually, God willing, get published . . .I dream on.  I also write poetry—that was the first time I was asked if I needed professional help—and no one outside my family has read that either.)  Oh well.  Have fun.  More coming soon.

**A Taste of Misery**

**Chapter 10**

Ana-Marie started as Will placed a glass in front of her, running both hands over her hair before settling back in the seat and taking a tentative sip.

"I didn't know ye kept rum in your house, Will."  Ana-Marie seemed pleasantly surprised.

"Nor did I, dear William."  Elizabeth's voice was smooth and sharp as ice.  Will blushed a deep red and Norrington felt a twinge of pity for the man.

"It was for Jack, if he ever showed up unexpected again."

The small smile vanished off Norrington's face.  "Sparrow has been here?  After . . .the incident at the gallows?"

"Only once, Commodore.  He and his crew helped me finish the house.  They also stayed for the wedding."  Will smiled tiredly.

"They were here for the wedding?"  Norrington looked even less pleased.  "How, pray tell, did you manage that?  I had guards posted with orders to arrest any pirates on sight and send them straight to the gallows."

Will opened his mouth in indignation . . .and swallowed the comments as a smile played around Norrington's mouth again.

"You knew we were here?"  Ana-Marie stared in shock.

"I'm no fool, either . . .m'lady.  I knew that Sparrow would be there if he could, and it seemed to me that much more progress was being done on the house than was logical for one blacksmith . . .and unlikely that he would be singing that horrid pirate song . . .in a five-part harmony."  Elizabeth glared silently at Will, who blushed an even deeper shade of red.

"I'll deal with you later, William Turner."  She turned to Ana-Marie, who was attempting to hide a grin behind her glass.  "Where do you know Alsworn from?"

All hint of joviality abruptly emptied from the room.  "Is that what he calls himself?  I only saw him once before, and he was . . .on assignment.  He called himself Gregory Frindle then.  When Jack met him for the first time in Tortuga, he was calling himself Almorte.  Jack said that's some clever way of combining words and languages to say 'All Death'."  The female pirate grimaced, staring at the rum in her glass.

"So he's an assassin."  Norrington was listening avidly.

"Aye, and a bloody good one.  He's worked all over Europe, and when things get too hot there he comes here.  The first time Jack met him was just after Jack has been branded . . .and when Almorte had no scars.  Both were drunk.  The assassin saw the brand and commented on the ineptitude of certain pirates.  Jack thought the man had no business being in Tortuga at all.  They took it outside to decide with blades who was the better man.

"Before they fought, Almorte told Jack that he was an assassin . . .told him some of the marks he had taken.  He was drunk, and thought that Jack would be an easy kill, and in a place like Tortuga, it wouldn't really have mattered if he had killed him.  He was wrong.  I don't know if it was because Jack was honestly the better swordsman or was just less drunk or just got lucky, but he drew first, second and fourth blood, as well as the victory."

"So he scarred him.  That's no reason to come after Jack now."  Will stated, confusion in his voice.

"No, it wouldn't have been.  An assassin relies on remaining inconspicuous until the time is right to strike, and Almorte could still manage that.  In fact, the scars gave him an added weapon to use . . .pity.  The rich snobs would pity the poor man who had nothing, not even his honor.  As long as he . . .how did Jack put it? . . .'made all his marks', he was still in business.

"Then Jack ran into him again, two years ago, on a raid on a merchant vessel.  He had a target on board the ship, and Jack relieved him of the man and his wife . . .a French businessman and his English wife, checking the line and visiting the ladies relatives who had taken up residence in the Caribbean.  He got a fine ransom for the pair.

"They also got something for their trouble, though.  The man had been making a nuisance of himself for over three weeks, and his wife was always either complaining or fainting.  Jack doesn't take insults to his ship and crew lightly, but he couldn't well kill the pair."  The pirate paused again.

"He didn't . . .even Jack wouldn't do something that stupid . . ."  Elizabeth trailed off.

"The Frenchman had finished swearing at him in French and the lady was lying on the deck in another faint.  Jack had had enough.  He gave him a choice.  One, shut up or walk the plank.  Two, shut up or he'd return them to Almorte.  I'm not sure whose face was more priceless . . .the Frenchman's when he realized that Jack had saved his life, or Jack's when he realized what he had said.  It didn't take a genius to determine that the assassin had to be the new crew man—the one with three scars on his left cheek.  By the time they were through blabbering, most of France knew who he was, and the news was traveling."

"Yet we haven't heard a thing about the man here."  Norrington tapped one hand on the tabletop in a steady tempo.

"Nay, ye wouldn't have . . .he dropped out of sight again some nineteen months ago, and so people stopped talking.  It takes time for news to reach here from the Old World, Commodore, and they honestly don't consider many of the people here worth assassinating."

"So Jack scarred him and ruined his career."  Will stated bluntly.

"Aye."

  
"In return he's going to hang Jack for a crime that he didn't commit—a crime that Alsworn . . .or Almorte . . .or whoever he is probably paid for."

"Aye.  He chose a new name, too, and an English one.  Alsworn.  I'm willing to bet it's 'All Is Sworn' mutilated like 'All Death' so that it's not as distinguishable."

Everyone fell silent.

"This is madness."  Will rose from the table and began pacing back and forth.  "Why go to all this trouble?"

"To hurt Jack the way that he was hurt, Will.  A scar is difficult to conceal on the face . . .three is impossible.  Jack took everything he had away from him, and the man is returning the favor.  He's taken Jack's life, his reputation, and, in bringing him back to Port Royal, he's convinced the man he's taken his friends.  And if it is madness, since when has sanity followed Jack?"  Elizabeth moved to comfort her husband, but he had already moved towards the bedroom.

He reappeared seconds later, his sword strapped to his side and a determined set to his face that Elizabeth had seen before.

"Will . . .not this time.  Not like this, Will!"

"Mr. Turner, consider the fact that you have a child on the way before you act rashly."  Norrington had risen as well.  "Also consider the fact that this time, the law is, for once, on the side of the pirate.  This woman's story strings together as smoothly as Silverfirth's, and is in fitting with the man's reputation."  Norrington paused.  "Also, consider who your wife is."

"Will, my father can grant a stay of execution.  We just have to convince him.  Please."  Gazing his wife in the eye, Will nodded, the motion barely perceptible, and pulled her into a tight embrace.

When the two broke apart moments later, it was to find that Ana-Marie had already left the room and was waiting somewhat impatiently outside, while Norrington stood in the doorway.

"Well, then, what are we waiting for?  Let's go save the day."  The smile that Will gave to accompany his words was small, but it reassured Elizabeth in a way that nothing else could have.


	11. Chapter 11: A Plea for Mercy

Disclaimer:  If I don't get any money, does it truly matter if I believe that I own them?

AN:  My muse seems to have had a minor stroke and is attempting to skip the middle of the story and go straight to the end, which would not work at all, so if updates seem to be coming slower or if the writing is slightly stilted that is the reason.  I am still extremely grateful for each and every review.  (There will only be one more pirate-torture scene if things go the way I think they are going, for those who think I'm being heavy-handed with Jack.)

**A Taste of Misery**

**Part 11**

"You would believe the word of this . . ._woman_ . . .over that of a well-respected member of the British aristocracy?"  The governor paced back and forth in front of his desk, while Norrington, the Turners and Ana-Marie stood politely—more or less—in front of him.

"This _woman_, father, helped to save my life, as did Jack Sparrow."

"I am well aware of that, Elizabeth.  I hope that you will remember that the events you describe took place three years ago, Elizabeth, and that any debt we owed to the crew of the _Pearl_—or to Jack Sparrow—was repaid in full."  He stopped pacing to face her.  "Why are you even here, my girl?  You should be home, resting, in a condition such as yours.  I would have thought that you would put your wife and unborn child before any lingering sentiments for a pirate, Mr. Turner."

Will opened his mouth to protest but was never able to utter a sound.

"Father!  I am pregnant, not ill, and if Mr. Turner had his way I would not have been allowed to set foot outside the house for the past five months, and would continue to be under house arrest until such time as I give birth to the babe or die of boredom!"  She paused and continued in a more respectful tone.  "Father, you were the one who convinced the Commodore to let Jack go last time.  Have things really changed that much?"

"Elizabeth, much as I would like to believe . . .in fact, _do_ believe . . .that Mr. Sparrow is not guilty of the massacre at Jade, it does not change the fact that he is a pirate.  If I stay the execution for an investigation, what good will that do?  He'll still swing for the crimes that he _has_ committed."  He turned to Norrington.  "Perhaps you can explain what it is that you hope to accomplish."

"M'lord, I do not wish to hang a man with the guilt for a crime he did not commit burdened upon him.  I wish for justice to be done.  In these circumstances, that would mean postponing the execution until we can determine if what the lady states is true.  Who knows what may happen during that time?"

"Are you suggesting what I think you are?  You, the great pirate hunter himself?  You believe in the man's innocence enough that you would let him go?"

"M'lord, I said nothing of the kind.  I merely stated that plans often do not work quite the way that they are supposed to, especially when pirates are in the picture."  Norrington stood easily at attention, meeting the governor's sharp gaze.

"If you truly believe that the man is innocent, then I will order a stay of execution until enquiries are made.  Remember though, Commodore, that while we may be the law in Port Royal, we must still answer to the Crown."

"I am ever aware of my responsibilities to the crown, sir.  In fact, releasing Sparrow might very well be in the best interests of the crown, at least so far as Port Royal is concerned."  All eyes turned to towards Norrington.  "My men have been rather bored for the last three years, Governor.  You may have noted a distinct lack of pirate activity in the waters surrounding Port Royal since the incident three years ago, and while I would like to think that it is because they fear me, I very much doubt it is the true reason."

All eyes turned towards Ana-Marie, who merely shrugged, leaning back against the wall with her legs crossed in front of her.  "A friendly warning here and there, Commodore, about disturbing the lives of those at Port Royal, that's all."

"Indeed."  Norrington turned his gaze back to the governor.  "Sir, much as I dislike saying this, if there are to be pirates in the Caribbean, I would much rather it be Jack Sparrow, who shows mercy to those who surrender, than someone such as Barbosa."

"Indeed, Commodore, I second that opinion.  I will authorize the stay of execution and an expedition to return to Jade to find this mystery woman.  I will also send an envoy back to the Old World to see if the tale of this Almorte is true.  Until such time as both ships return with news, Jack Sparrow is to be kept under strict guard.  Am I understood?"  All four nodded.  "If the results are in Sparrow's favor, and he has behaved himself, then perhaps the guard may be lessened, and something . . ._unexpected _could occur."

"There is another way, Governor."  Will spoke slowly.  "Jack could ask for amnesty.  The _Pearl_ is a good ship.  She and her captain would make a handsome addition to the fleet as privateers."

Ana-Marie broke in before the governor could speak.  "No, lad.  Jack would ne'er ask amnesty nor would he accept it.  His ship is his freedom, and ye'll never see him sail under someone else's flag."

"Even if it were his life on the line?"

"He's traded his life for you and your lady.  I could easily have traded mine for his or for naught by coming ashore today.  Friendship and freedom, lad, that's all Jack asks for in this world . . .that, and as much treasure and rum as he can get his hands on."

"You and I, Commodore, are going to pretend that we never heard this conversation."  The governor settled behind his desk, shaking his head slightly, drawing parchment and paper towards him.  Ana-Marie and the Turners left quickly, murmuring goodbyes.  Norrington bowed and turned to follow them, but was stopped by a low cough from the governor.

"Commodore Norrington, in return for these favors, you are going to do two things.  One, you will inform the garrison of what has transpired."  Norrington nodded briskly.  While not a task he greatly anticipated, it was his by right of rank, and he had already been planning how best to go about telling the men so as to not start a minor uprising.  Many of them had known people who were transferred to the garrison at Jade to replace the men injured in the raid before the massacre.

"And two, Commodore," the governor paused, staring Norrington in the eye, "you will inform Silverfirth that Jack Sparrow will not be hanged tomorrow, and you will not allow him to leave and hunt me out until he has calmed down sufficiently that I will not be made prematurely deaf when he has had his stay.  Is that clear?"

  
"Perfectly, m'lord."  Norrington turned briskly to go, but his stride was noticeably slower than usual.

If telling the garrison that Sparrow would not hang tomorrow was going to be hard, telling Silverfirth was going to be like taking a brisk walk through hell.

Jack Sparrow had best be worth the efforts, or Norrington would break tradition and personally tie the loop round the man's neck and drop the gate himself.


	12. Chapter 12: Forlorn Hope

Disclaimer:  I've been wishing upon all the stars I see, but I think all the magic I might ever have possessed in being siphoned into this writing . . .in other words, still not mine . . .

AN:  People are still reviewing—and still reviewing happily—which makes the author exceedingly happy—couple that with insomnia left over from the last two months of school when she was writing two research papers, doing two research boards, and studying for three excessively evil exams (the other three were pathetic), and people get more chapters quickly, she gets more reviews, and everyone is happy!  My muse is still having problems with the climax of this story—which should be in the next one or two chapters—so be forewarned.

AN2:  Despite what my father now fervently believes, I am not a bloody nutter of a teenager!

**A Taste of Misery**

**Part 12**

Norrington sat as straight and as still as he could, his back beginning to ache from the strain.  His neck was starting to cramp from watching the gesticulating Silverfirth storm back and forth across his office.

He no longer had any worries about how he was going to tell the rest of the garrison that Sparrow wouldn't hang and that an investigation was being held into his connection to the Port Jade massacre.

In fact, he was fairly certain that the entire port knew that Sparrow might be cleared of at least one of his crimes, given the volume with which Silverfirth had protested.

It had been at least a solid half-hour since he summoned the man and his servant to his office, and he was beginning to wonder if he was going to be the one prematurely deaf.  Surely the man's throat must hurt like the devil after all the screaming that he had just done—was _continuing_, by some minor miracle, to do.

"The man murdered my wife, for God's sake!  He hacked her head off!  He disemboweled my daughter and left her to die in agony!  He shot at me!  Do you want to see the scar?!  I should have died with them, but by his grace God left me free so that I could find the man and see to it that he never did this again to anyone else!  I saw him as clearly as I see you!  There's no mistaking that brand or the tattoo, or the bloody demon himself!  I brought him back to Port Royal because I knew that you had already tried to hang him twice, and would think on it as a favor!  Now, now, when justice is about to be served, when you have _my word_ that he's the bloody bastard who did the deeds, who ordered the priest crucified and the children flayed alive and—"

Norrington considered breaking the stream of babbling, deciding that hearing the register of the crimes for a fourth time would be utterly pointless.  Obviously the man wasn't going to stop on his own anytime soon—in fact, he seemed prepared to keep repeating himself until Armageddon came, and to continue to restate the same arguments in whatever afterlife he found himself in.

The image of Satan having to listen to the man scream for all eternity about how he had been wronged almost brought a smile to Norrington's face, but the ache that had steadily been building between his ears made it quite easy to resist the urge.

If the man wouldn't stop on his own, then perhaps a little shock therapy was in order.

"Were you supposed to kill the girl in return for the name and description?"  Norrington broke in smoothly over the diatribe.

Silverfirth stopped dead, the color draining out of his face so rapidly that Norrington thought he would faint.

"What are you talking about?"

"No, he wouldn't ask that of you.  He needed you to have faith in him.  Maybe he planned on slipping away to finish the job, but he couldn't get away from you.  Or maybe he thought, rather incorrectly, that no one could possibly find her, and that if they found her, no one could possibly make sense of what she said, and that if they did make sense of it, they wouldn't believe her.  He was wrong on all accounts, if such was his thinking."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Norrington."  No color had returned to Silverfirth's face, and his voice, so strong and sanctimonious moments ago, was now a harsh whisper.

"Oh, but I think that you do.  I think you know who and what I'm talking about, and you're perfectly right.  You should have died that day defending your wife and daughter, but you weren't there."

Norrington flicked his eyes around the room, searching for Alsworn.  Goading the assassin might not be the most intelligent thing in the world to do, but Norrington doubted that the man would take the risk of killing the fort commander in his own fort.

He froze as he realized that he and Silverfirth were the only two people in the room.

As if of its own accord, his hand shot out and grabbed Silverfirth by the shirtfront.

"Where is he?"

Silverfirth stared mutely at the commander.

"Damn you, man, how long has he been gone?"

When Silverfirth merely continued to stare at him, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth, Norrington had his answer.  He released Silverfirth and stepped back.

"May you rot in the lowest circle of hell, you bastard.  You'll have more innocent blood on your hands before the day is through."  Turning on his heel, he walked out the door with as much dignity as he could muster before breaking into a run, sweat streaming down his back.

No, he would not dare take down the commander in his own fort, but a pirate captain locked in a cell?

A half hour was close enough to eternity when dealing with a trained killer.


	13. Chapter 13: The Summons

Disclaimer:  Once again, if I owned them, they'd all be much the worse for wear, especially a certain pirate captain . . .

AN:  Muse is having minor breakdown.  Trying to work around that.  Hope you enjoy.  Still many thanks for reviews.  Also, don't be confused, there is a minor time differential between the last chapter and this one—this one occurs before the last one ends.

AN2:  In response to the naming of a certain female pirate, I apologize profusely, but I honestly couldn't remember exactly what her name was.  I am utterly horrible with names (don't ask the number of times I had to go back in this story to find the names I gave the young redcoat and the assassin.=() and if I remember correctly she was only named once during the movie, but my muse was determined that she _must_ be the one to come ashore . . .I will fix it in later chapters and go back and fix it in the earlier ones once I've finally finished the story.

**A Taste of Misery**

**Part 13**

"Mr. Sparrow . . .I thought you might like this."  Jack started awake as the young redcoat hesitantly shoved a mug through the bars of the cell.  He had either changed uniforms or cleaned the blood off the one he had been wearing earlier.  Jack was surprised that the lad had the courage to return.

He was more surprised when he discovered the contents of the mug weren't water.

Turning back to the lad, he grinned slowly.  "It's Captain Jack Sparrow, lad, and I thank ye for the drink."

"I think something's happening, Mr. . . .Captain Sparrow.  The Commodore summoned Mr. Silverfirth and Mr. Alsworn to his office."

The lad waited, apparently for a response, but Jack couldn't think of one and he wasn't really in the mood to stress his mind trying, though something about the second man's name seemed familiar.

"The rumor is that he went to see the Governor and got a stay of execution."

That got Jack's attention.

Was it possible that, not even a day after he had finally given up on living, he would get a reprieve?

"Why would he do that?"  Jack stared hard at the young redcoat, trying to discern if he was being completely truthful.

"I don't know, but the rumors also say that he was with the Turner's and a servant."

Jack rested his head against the cell wall.

False hope, then.  He had seen the loathing in Will's eyes.  If Will had gone to see the governor, it was more likely to push the time of his death forward rather than backward.

"Don't worry about it too much.  Even if they decide to investigate Jade, Norrington will hang me for everything else.  He's been waiting for three years."

The young man frowned.  "The Commodore is a good man.  You could try to work something out with him."

"Aye, and ye could try to work something out with your bloody companions, lad.  The world has an order, and it seems that it's finally decided my time's up."

"I don't understand you.  I've been asking the other's about you, and once they get around the incident at Jade most of what you've done has been amusing or brilliant or a combination of the two.  You care about your crew, you care about your friends, yet you don't seem to care that you've got another chance!"  Frustration filled Brian's voice, and Jack closed his eyes and sighed wearily.

"Things change, lad.  People change."  This was worse than any conversation he had sat through with Will.

Then again, when he was suffering through Will's idealistic moments, he had been sound in body, mind and soul.

Looking up to meet the lad's gaze, he managed a small version of his grin.

"When the Commodore comes to tell me that I won't hang—or be shot or drawn and quartered or beaten to death or any other form of dying—then I promise to care.  Caring based on rumors and tales is dangerous.  It's already lost me one friend.  Savvy?"

"But—"

Whatever the lad was going to say, he never got a chance to finish the thought, as the patter of feet coming down the steps reached both men.  The lad stood hastily and spun towards the stairway, one hand automatically groping for his sword hilt.

"John!  Thomas!  What are you doing here?"

So the two roughs did have names.

"Go on and scamper out of here and keep a watch for the Commodore, lad."  The first man spoke kindly, if firmly.

"What?  Thomas, you can't be planning on . . .haven't you heard the rumors?"  The lad stood uncertainly in front of Jack's cell, whether purposefully or accidentally blocking the way to the door.

"Aye, we've heard the rumors.  What would you have us do, let a bloody murdering pirate get off scot-free?"  The second man stepped forward, holding his rifle in front of him.

"But . . .but that would be murder!"  Jack almost laughed at the expression of mixed disbelief and disgust on the young man's face.

"Just get out of the way, Brian.  You've no part in this, lad."  Thomas placed a restraining hand on John's shoulder.

The lad glanced around, as though noticing that he truly was in the way, before speaking again.  "I've no part in this?  You want me to ignore the fact that you're planning a cold-blooded murder?"

_Remember your place, Will Turner._

_I know my place.  It's right here, between you and Jack._

Jack Sparrow was not going to allow another idealistic young fool to stand between him and his fate.  Death bonds hurt far too much when they broke.  "Stand aside, lad.  Ye truly don' have a place in this."

"Shut the bloody hell up, you fool!  I don't know why you want to die, but I cannot just stand here and let them kill you!  This is not justice!"  Jack stepped back, the feral snarl tugging at his lips again.  The lad had no idea what he was talking about.  Jack didn't _want_ to die, but death certainly seemed to want him.

"He deserves to die, Brian!  You weren't here when they called up people to transfer to Jade!  Mallory, Pensky, Johnson, Holland!  They were my friends!"  Thomas released his hold on John's arm, moving forward a half step.

"This is not justice, and I will not stand by and allow it to happen!"

"Stand aside, Brian."  John's voice was a low half-growl as he moved towards the young redcoat.

"You will do this over my dead body."

The skirmish was brief and one-sided.  Before the young redcoat had even cleared his sword from its scabbard, the rifle butt had smashed into the side of his face, the force of the blow slamming him into the rock wall, where he slid down slowly, leaving a bloody trail as he collapsed to the ground, where he lay, immobile.

For an instant, a perfect stillness reigned in the small brig.

"No!  You filthy, bloodthirsty bastards, he was one of your own!  It's me you wanted!  You didn't have to do that!  He was one of your bloody own!"  _Oh, lad, why'd you have to do that?  I'm not worth it, lad._  "It's me you want!  Come on!"

"Shut up, damn you!"  The pirate ignored the command, forcing the two redcoats to speak over him.  Thomas's face was an ashen gray.  "John, what the hell have you done?"

"He's the one that forced it to this, Thomas."

"He's barely old enough to be here, let alone to die here!"

"Aye, and I don't kill children for bloody fun, unlike that demon the lad was defending!"  The redcoat stopped speaking, his hands shaking slightly on the bloody rifle.  "We've started this, Tom, we have to finish it.  Come on, Alsworth is waiting."

"Oh, yes, just come on!"  Thomas gestured towards the pirate captain, whose vocal barrage had degenerated into snarls and barely-intelligible threats and insults, adrenaline giving him a strength he shouldn't have had.

John stared at the cell in perplexity.

"I'll 'come on' as soon as you explain to me how we're removing _that_ from the cell and binding him, as we're supposed to bring him _alive_!"

The redcoat opened his mouth to reply, reached up to touch his still-swollen nose, and closed it again without uttering a sound.


	14. Chapter 14: Almorte

Disclaimer:  I finished killing three of my own characters, driving one insane, and having the other become basically a hermit to protect the crazy one (ten other characters survived completely intact, there was a marriage and a child, and two of them were gifted with special powers (the others already had them), for those who think the above sounds rather disturbing), so I decided to play with someone else's and see what damage could be done . . .

AN:  Keep reviewing.  It helps.  Send me a new muse, because this one is now jumping all around the story and driving me absolutely nutters.

**A Taste of Misery**

**Part 14**

It took them a full five minutes to finally corral the pirate, and the small portion of his mind that still cared about such things supposed it would probably have been hilarious to anyone watching if not for the seriousness of the participants and the young man lying in a spreading pool of his own blood not ten feet away.

The redcoats had fashioned another noose, but they were forced to use it as lasso in order to capture the belligerent pirate captain.  When they finally brought him to his knees, barely able to breath through the pressure on his neck, both redcoats were bruised and bloodied.  They made quick work of tying his hands, this time in front of him rather than behind his back, and shoving the blindfold over his eyes, his weak resistance earning him only kicks and cuffs to the head.

Anything intelligible that he had been attempting to say had long ago evaporated into snarls and growls, and his feral responses and bitter struggle despite the obvious hopelessness of his situation frightened the two men more than they would have ever admitted.

Not that they had all that much time left to admit it in.

They eventually had to more carry than lead the half-strangled man through the fort corridors.

"Not long now, Tom, and he gets what he deserves.  This time there won't be no last-minute rescue, not a chance.  This is probably even better than hanging him—more blood in repayment for what he took."

The other man just grunted and the two continued on in silence.

"Here.  He said to bring him here."

Jack began to struggle again, but a tightening of the noose that they had left around his neck quickly returned him to a twilight state halfway between consciousness and unconsciousness.

"You were supposed to bring him alive."  The voice was vaguely familiar to Jack, but it was incredibly hard to concentrate.

"He is alive.  What're you going to do?"  Thomas shifted his hold on Jack's arm.

"What I said I was.  I'm going to kill him."  There was a small pause.  "Hang him over there."

Jack came back to awareness with a strangled cry of agony as he suddenly lost the opportunity to slouch down.  The rope around his hands had been loosened and retied quickly before his arms were dragged up over his head, he was lifted up off the floor, and the loop of rope was slung around some kind of hook suspended from the ceiling.

Doing anything but standing straight up and almost on the tips of his toes brought his weight down upon his injured wrist, which informed him of the problem in no uncertain way.

He stood, knees shaky, as the agony dimmed to a burning pain and began dropping back to its now-customary throb, while the noose was cut from around his neck.

A warm liquid splashed into his face and he tasted copper on his tongue.

"Such a pity.  They don't make them to last anymore, do they?"

The same voice that had spoken earlier whispered into his ear as the blindfold was removed from his eyes.

"Recognize me, Jack Sparrow?"

Jack blinked once, fighting down the urge to lash out with anything and everything that he had, heedless of the consequences, his reasoning abilities slowly resurfacing.

The delay was not appreciated by the man before him.

The backhand slap caught him full in the face, and he felt his lip split open in a new place.  "Captain Jack Sparrow, I asked you if you recognized me!"

Jack snarled, his control loosening again, as he struggled to remember why the man looked and sounded so familiar.  He glared at the other as best as he could, flicking his eyes to the scars on the man's cheek . . .and pausing.

"Almorte."

"At your service, Captain.  Funeral service, that is.  Silverfirth can be so long-winded at times like these, you know, and this place hasn't been used for a small eternity.  No one knows we're here, Jack, and I can disappear before they realize what's happened.  You're mine now, Jack, to dispose with as I wish."

Jack turned his gaze towards the room, which was indeed full of dust and cobwebs . . .and two corpses.  Thomas lay by the door, the hilt of a dagger protruding from the base of his skull.  Jack recognized both the force and the finesse needed for a kill like that.  John lay not three feet from Jack's feet, his throat slit so deeply that the white of vertebrae showed through the gap.  It was his blood that coated Jack's face now.  A fire blazed, providing the only illumination.  There were no windows.  Tools lined the walls, and he suddenly understood where he was.  

"A forge."

"Aye.  Fitting, isn't it?  It hasn't been used since Mr. Brown set up shop outside the fort."  The man walked over to the fire, where a small pile of objects had been laid out.  He picked up a hat and a pistol, flinging the hat into the fire before turning back to Jack.  "Ashes to ashes.  This is the gun that you shot Barbosa with, no?  Oh, yes, I've heard about your little adventure.  I found out all that I could about you, Jack Sparrow, and I've returned the favor that you gave me."

With a flick of his wrist, Almorte sent the pistol into the hottest part of the fire.

"And this, Jack, this was a gift from young Will Turner.  Perfectly balanced, finely made, well cared for . . .have you drawn it in the last month, Jack Sparrow?"

Jack's response was another snarl.

"Oh, Jack, I'm sure that of course it was an accident, of course, but didn't it feel good to see what you could do?  To feel that power in your hands?  The power of life and death over innocence?"  Almorte stepped over to the bound pirate, staring him in the eye as he brought the blade up by Jack's neck, one elbow nearly resting on the pirate's shoulder, though his face was too far away for Jack to do any serious damage by lunging at it.  "That's a feeling you took away from me, Jack.  You took my anonymity and you took my career.  I've taken your reputation, your career, and, soon now, your life.  I think that's about fair."

Jack suddenly lunged his head down and to the left, pulling as tightly as he could on the bonds around his hands despite the flare of agony in his wrist, and sank his teeth into the other man's wrist, drawing blood.

The assassin leapt back in shock, his skin whitening slightly, as he stared between the pirate and his bloodied wrist.  "You're mad.  A bloody rabid sparrow."

Jack licked his bloody lips and grinned that feral grin that he had gotten very good at over the past eight days.

Almorte stalked over to the fire, placing the sword in until the metal glowed red-hot.

"And you'll pay for that.  You've only made it harder on yourself, Sparrow."

Jack merely snarled again.

End Notes:

One, it is possible for a human being biting in the right place with enough force to draw blood.  My brother has proven this to me.

Two, for those who care, I know from Biomed (a very informative but still evil in its difficulty level) that the method of rabies transmission was discovered in 1804, so I'm figuring that at the time of this they would know that it was a disease and hopefully be calling it rabies.


	15. Chapter 15: On the Trail

Disclaimer:  If they're playing in my mind more than in their creators, why can't I own them?  I bet their creators are getting more than five hours of sleep a night . . .then again, their creators aren't watching over two rambunctious brothers all day either . . .

AN:  I just found out today that my grandmother has hepatic sarcoma—cancer of the liver.  While already having a high fatality rate, she also has cirrhoses caused by hepatitis c that she acquired from a blood transfusion when she was younger.  This means that my little brothers will be in my care all day, so updates might be slower in coming.  My other grandmother broke her hip and is in rehabilitation.  My father is on call to be shipped out to Bosnia or anywhere else that they decide he should go—such as Iraq.  I'll still write, though—this is getting to be almost like a lifeline in a world that keeps getting steadily darker.

**A Taste of Misery**

**Part 15**

Norrington's footfalls echoed in his ears as he bolted down the corridor, past a few shocked faces, his mind running over the events in his office again and again, trying to determine when Almorte had slipped out, knowing that it had been too long, too bloody long . . .

His boot slipped and he skidded around the corner . . .

And right into the female pirate.

"Brig.  Now."  He didn't waste any more time on words as he continued his dash, hearing more running footsteps fill the hall behind him.

"What's . . .happened?"  Will had drawn his sword, and Norrington saw the same hard glint in his eye that had been present earlier that morning and three years ago at the gallows.

"Alsworn . . .disappeared."  Norrington slowed as they approached the stairs to the small jail.  "Why are _you_ here?"

"I wanted to see Jack."  It was Ana-Maria who answered him, her sword also in hand.  Norrington drew his as well.

"Commodore, you don't think he . . .?"  Elizabeth had caught up with the small group.

"M'lady, you should not run in your condition, and yes, I think he would have."  Norrington motioned the others back and proceeded with cat-like caution down the stairs.

The first thing that caught his eye was the open and empty cell.

The second was the crumpled man lying against the opposite wall.

"Oh, good Lord . . .Brian."  Norrington rushed over to the young man, gently turning him over.  "Oh, Brian . . .you shouldn't have been a part of this, lad."

The young redcoats blond hair was matted and dark with his own blood.  The right side of his face was a bloody mess, with the eye swollen shut and the nose obviously broken, and it seemed likely that his cheekbone had been fractured, though it was difficult to tell through the blood and the swelling.

As Norrington watched, fresh blood slid down the young man's face and dripped from his hair.

"Dead men don't bleed . . .oh, God . . .Elizabeth, I need you to stay here with him, see if you can get someone to fetch a doctor.  Keep him warm.  Give him someone to talk to if he comes around."  The Commodore grabbed her wrist when she would have protested.  "Elizabeth, he needs someone.  Please.  For me."

"All right, Commodore.  I'll help him."  She knelt down as Norrington stood abruptly, wiping his bloody hands on his coat jacket before picking up his sword again.  "Commodore Norrington . . .bring Jack back.  Please."

"If I can, Elizabeth."

"Where would he take Jack?"  Will stood uncertainly in the center of the small brig, staring around as though the walls could answer.

"He can't have taken the man far—he still has to be in the fort."

"Commodore, where could a man remain hidden for any length of time?"  Ana-Maria stood at the foot of the stairs, impatient.

"Not anywhere in the main fort.  There's dozens of storage rooms where he could be safe, at least for a short time, and we don't have the time to search each one."  Norrington glanced between Will and Ana-Maria.  "He's been playing mind-games with Sparrow.  Do you have any idea where he might take the man?"

"None."  Ana-Maria shook her head to emphasize the word, frustration evident on her face, before turning to gaze at Will.

"Don't look at me.  I'm a blacksmith, not a tactician."

"A blacksmith . . .Sparrow met you when you were working, did he not?"

"That's one way of putting it."  Will remembered the duel with Jack very vividly.

"There was a forge here, before Brown built his shop in the port proper . . ."

It was a slim lead, a one-in-a-million shot, but it was all they had, and at the moment none of them cared.  They simply needed to act.

The three were up the stairs and following Norrington's lead before Elizabeth could even wish them luck.

Praying silently, she turned her own energy towards finding help for the badly injured young man who clung to life in front of her.


	16. Chapter 16: Bitter Sweet Reunions

Disclaimer:  They're mine, my precious, my only . . .I am immortal and was a crewman on the _Pearl_, thus I know these people and therefore own a portion of them . . .I used a Memory Charm on the real owners so thus they are now mine . . .um . . .can't think of any more shows/books to use at the moment . . .

AN:  It's really here!  The climax!  Bows to all who have reviewed and those who haven't but have still read (and hopefully enjoyed).  There are two ways that my muse has worked out for where the story goes from here.  One is longer and slightly darker, but I promise not too dark and not too long, and I really like the ending that I have to it.  The other is a short, sweet wrap-up.  If anyone has a preference, inform me, otherwise my inclination is to go with the longer one.

**A Taste of Misery**

**Part 16**

Jack howled in agony and lunged again at the man in front of him, no longer caring about the burning in his wrist, but his bonds held him too high off the floor for his attack to do much more than provoke the assassin.

Jack's sword, the one that Will had given him too years earlier, that Jack had kept lovingly and in perfect condition even after it betrayed him, was now dull and black with burned skin and fabric.  Nicks covered Jack's arms and legs, steadily getting deeper as Almorte relished in the agony he was causing.

After all, with the blade hot from the fire, there was no danger he would bleed to death.  The steel cauterized the wounds even as it inflicted them.

And if Jack were to die of shock, it would just rob the assassin of a few minutes fun . . .minutes that he knew were dangerous.  The assassin recognized the need to end the game, but it was overshadowed by a fierce delight in watching the man that had ruined his life scream and writhe in agony at his hands.

Caution finally won out, and he placed the sword into the fire for the final time, rubbing his wrist where the pirate had bitten him.

With his luck, it would get infected and leave yet another scar.

Pulling the sword out of the fire, he walked slowly back to his bound captive, eyeing him critically.  The man hadn't spoken an intelligible word since saying the assassin's name and identifying the room as a forge.  Bruises and cuts covered his body, but while most men would already have either passed out or passed over, the pirate seemed to become _fiercer_ with each injury inflicted upon him.

Almorte shook his head.  It made no sense.  Almorte had never seen anything like it before.

Perhaps the man truly _was_ mad.

Not that madness or sanity mattered for Jack Sparrow at the moment.

Almorte stalked over to his captive, careful to keep a safe distance between himself and the pirate's teeth.  Lifting the blade with his left hand, he touched it almost gently to Jack's chest, grinning slightly as the pirate's body instinctively jerked back from the hot metal.

"Is this where you were stabbed before, Jack Sparrow?"

A small voice inside his head automatically answered that the blade was two inches too high and one too far to the left, but he barely grasped what this meant, and his only verbal response was a snarl.

"Somewhere in here, I suppose.  I'll almost miss you, you know, Jack?  You provide such excellent sport."  The grin hardened as the assassin prepared to follow through on the stroke.

The heavy thud of a blade intersecting flesh sounded through the room, and both Jack and Almorte screamed.

The assassin stared at his arm in disbelief where the blade of a sword had sprouted from it.  His fingers loosened their hold on the blade and it fell to the ground, where the blade, weakened from the repeated heating and cooling, shattered.

Three people stood just inside the doorway.  One the assassin recognized as William Turner, the second as Commodore Norrington, and the third, though he didn't know her by name, had the look of a pirate about her.

Reaching with his right hand, he attempted to grasp the hilt of the sword to pull it from his arm, but the blade was too long for him to manage it.

"You really love that trick, don't you, boy?"  Will Turner merely smiled, though his eyes were hard and flat.

"He missed."  Ana-Maria glanced between the assassin and her captain, her body rigid with rage.

Norrington stepped forward, over Thomas's body, his sword grasped firmly in front of him.  "Mr. Alsworn, or whatever your name truly is, you are hereby under arrest for the murder of two soldiers of the British Navy, the attempted murder of a third, obstruction of justice, and for the ordering of and participation in the massacre at Port Jade."

"You're only postponing the inevitable, Commodore.  You'll never pin Jade on me, and the pirate will hang any—"  The assassin stopped dead as a second sword sprouted from his chest, stared at the female pirate for an instant, and fell forward, blood bubbling from his nose and mouth.  Jack moaned as the sound of the sword striking reached his ears, though his eyes were closed.

"He was trying to escape."  For a moment Norrington and Ana-Maria locked eyes before the Commodore nodded briefly.

"Jack . . ."  Will rushed over to the pirate, who stood swaying slightly, his eyes still closed.  Norrington and Ana-Maria followed.

"Oh, Jack . . ."  Will slowly reached out to the man, trying to determine how to get him down while causing him the least amount of pain.  He was ill prepared for the reaction that he got.

As his fingers brushed the bound man's arm, the pirate lunged at him, brought up short with a snarl of pain by the bonds.  Will almost fell as he leapt backwards.

"Jack, it's me.  It's Will.  Let me help you!"

The pirate showed no comprehension.

"Jack . . .look at me.  Captain!"  Ana-Maria placed herself solidly in front of the bound man.  When he turned to lunge at her, she slapped him across the face, the sound echoing eerily, before grabbing his head in both her hands.  "Jack, they're helping you.  Jack!"

Slowly the snarl dropped from his face as he stared into her eyes.

"Get him down.  Now!"  Ana-Maria snapped at the two men without breaking eye contact with her captain.

Moving quickly, the two men grabbed Jack on either side and lifted the bonds around his hands from the hook.  Norrington quickly cut them with his sword.

The pirate captain stood swaying for a moment before he crumpled to the blood-spattered floor.


	17. Chapter 17: Home

Disclaimer:  I own nothing but the plot, and since my AP teacher informed us that all plots can be boiled down to five basic themes/theories, by some definitions I don't even own that . . .

AN:  I'm grateful for all the well wishes for my family.  Everyone seems to want the longer version of the ending, so here it is.  You all had fair warning and a chance to get a lighter ending. =)

**A Taste of Misery**

**Part 17**

Will gently cut and pried the blood-soaked and tattered remnants of the pirate's shirt from his body, carefully keeping his mind devoid of emotion as the full extent of the injuries became evident.

Jack didn't need him breaking down now.

What the pirate needed was a doctor . . .and a small miracle.  Will could feel the heat emanating from the unconscious man's skin.  He hadn't moved since his collapse in the old forge well over a half hour ago.

Will and Ana-Maria had carried the man up to the infirmary, where Elizabeth had been waiting impatiently.  Brian Lanebridges still clung to life, but it was touch-and-go, and the doctor had just arrived moments before.

Norrington had provided a litter and a personal escort from the fort to the Turner's house, promising to send the doctor over as soon as was possible.

Elizabeth had protested indignantly until the commodore had explained, his voice rigid and tight, that he could not guarantee Jack Sparrow's safety in the fort.

Two members of the garrison were dead and a third badly injured.  The rest would want retribution, and the only object available at the moment, thanks to Ana-Maria, was Jack Sparrow.

The hard set to Norrington's face had told Elizabeth that he couldn't even guarantee his own safety in the fort, but was too proud to admit it.

Will had merely nodded numbly, following orders.

_You said my father was a good man.  You also said he was your friend.  You're obviously lying about one of those, because he couldn't have been both._

He had misjudged, badly, and Jack had been the one to pay the price.  It was just so hard, so bloody hard, to believe one thing for eighteen years of your life and have it all turned upside down . . .

Even when he liked the pirate, he didn't.  He had been willing to hang in an attempt to save Jack's life, but even as he was, some portion of his mind still whispered that he was mad, that a pirate was always a pirate . . .

When Jack had shown up two years earlier, Will had relished in the company, taken pleasure in flouting Norrington's law, in resisting authority without causing harm . . .and felt guilt, guilt that he had buried and drowned in rum and laughter and singing and good company.

When Jack or Ana-Maria or any of the _Pearl_'s crew were nearby, it was easy to call them friends, to enjoy their company and their rather unique outlook on life, but when two years had gone by and the only word you had was that from sailor's who feared the pirate's flag as sharply as the plague . . .

He wondered belatedly if Jack could even write.  It had been the assumption of a rich man, something Will had never been and had always rather disdained, to think that all men could read and write as well as he could.

"Will, go sit with Ana-Maria."  Will started at the sound of his name, realizing that he had finished and now stood holding the scissors in one hand and a last bloody shred of cloth in the other.

"Are you sure . . .?"

"I'm sure I can handle it, Will."  She swirled the bloody cloth she was using to clean the pirate captain's injuries in the water at her side; once clear and clean, it was now approaching a bloody red itself.  "She's part of his crew; you're one of his best friends.  He'd die of embarrassment if you two were taking care of him."

"As though he won't when he finds out it was you . . ."  Will moved away gratefully anyway.

"Will, pull the curtain, please."

For a moment he didn't understand what she meant.  Then he remembered the old curtains that Jack and he had strung from one end of the room to the other, dividing the long, rectangular room into two roughly square parts—one a kitchen area, the other a place to greet guests or to use as a family room when he and Elizabeth had children.  

At the moment, Jack occupied a cot close to the fireplace, while the tables and chairs had been displaced to nearer the door.  Ana-Maria sat there, watching everything that happened but making no move, either to help or to hinder.

He and Elizabeth had had little need to draw the curtains during their occupancy of the house, and he had almost forgotten that they existed.

A small thrill of fear writhed in the pit of his stomach as he pulled them now, closing off the view of his wife and Jack, the act somehow reminding him of pulling a funeral shroud over the dead.

He realized belatedly that he had also just closed off the door to his bedroom, leaving him trapped with the female pirate.  Though a flimsy defense, the curtain suddenly seemed a stronger barrier than any fort Will had ever seen.

He settled slowly into a chair across from Ana-Maria, who gazed over at him.

"I'm sorry."

"So am I, Will Turner, so am I."

"This shouldn't have happened."

"No, it shouldn't have, but it did, so ye have t' accept it, as do I."

"I should have spoken up yesterday, done something . . ."

"Ye're here for him now.  Ye can't change the past, Will."

"Aren't you angry?  Frustrated?  Furious?"  Will suddenly envied Ana-Maria the kill.

"Aye, all of the above.  He was my captain . . .m' friend."  Her voice slowed.

Will looked over at her sharply.  He knew Jack's reputation.  "Were you . . .?"  The pirate smirked at him, quirking one eyebrow.  "I mean, did he . . .do you love him?"

The smirk disappeared and Ana-Maria smiled tiredly.  "As my captain, aye.  I couldn't ask for a better one.  As a friend, aye.  He's a good man, Will Turner, no matter what else you want to believe.  As a man, though . . .taking it that far, Will, it would wreck the magic of the others, don' ye think?"

Will blushed.  "I don't know.  Elizabeth and I are friends as well as lovers."

"Aye, lad, and lucky to be.  You hold her tight, Will Turner, her and whatever children ye're blessed with."  She paused.  "Just not too tight, though, Will.  Not so tight that they can't be themselves, who they need to be.  Ye'll only drive them away by doin' that."

A heavy silence fell as both turned to their own thoughts, a silence that was broken by a tentative knock at the door.


	18. Chapter 18: The Doctor Calls

Disclaimer:  Only 2% of the money people see in their bank accounts actually exists, and considering I'm not even getting any of this imaginary currency, does this matter?

AN:  Still grateful for the reviews and the prayers/well wishes for my family.  I am writing primarily after midnight now, so please forgive any mind-wandering that occurs.

**A Taste of Misery**

**Part 18**

Will gestured the nervous doctor to follow him, aware of Ana-Maria rising and falling in, silent and cat-like, behind the man.  Unconsciously holding his breath, he pulled back the curtain and gestured towards the pirate, his hand halting halfway through the motion.

The change in the pirate's appearance was nothing short of miraculous.  All of the dried blood had been wiped off his body, though a few spots showed fresh blood welling up.

Those weren't the changes that immediately caught his eye, though.  Elizabeth had taken his razor and shaved off the man's blood-matted mustache and beard.  She had removed the beads from his hair, and it lay, dark, limp and wet, but no longer bloody and matted, in a parody of a halo around his head.  The rings had been removed from his fingers.  The kohl that seemed to permanently line his eyes was absent.

Will had never seen the pirate captain seem so . . .

"Well, he doesn't look so much like a raging lunatic of a pirate, does he?  Looks almost respectable."  Ana-Maria moved closer to the doctor, her lip curled upward in a snarl.  Will motioned her back quickly.

Respectable.  That wasn't the word that Will would have chosen to describe how Jack looked.

No, he would have said vulnerable.

Vulnerable.  That was a word that Will had never associated with the pirates, not when they were his enemies and not when they were his friends, but that was how Jack Sparrow appeared to him in that instant.

Elizabeth rose from her seat next to his bed, holding a bulging rawhide pouch with a drawstring to close it.  She pressed it gently into Ana-Maria's unprotesting fingers.

"They're his.  I had to, to clean all the blood off . . ."

The female pirate nodded sharply, tying the drawstrings to her belt with a few quick motions.  Will wondered how long he and Ana-Maria had sat in silence for Elizabeth to accomplish all that she had.

"Good lord, what did they do, torture the man?"  The doctor had started examining the unconscious pirate on the cot.  "There's evidence of old bruising as well as new.  There's a possibility that damage could have been done internally . . ."

"Ye'll not cut him open."

The doctor turned, eyes wide, and froze, rather like a rabbit suddenly faced with a fox, as the female pirate stepped forward, hand on her sword hilt.

"Of . . .of course not.  Whatever you wish."

"It's not what I'd wish, good sir.  It's what _he_ would wish."  Ana-Maria nodded toward Jack, gently removing her hand from her sword.

"Of course.  Well then . . .I can bandage the wrist easily enough, but he's already burning with fever.  You did right to clean the wounds.  I have a salve that you can place on the worst of the cuts and burns . . .how on earth did he get some of these injuries?  Never mind . . .I'm sure I'll hear about it in the morning when I go to check on that young lad at the fort . . ."

"Brian?  He's going to be all right?"  Elizabeth leaned forward.

"I don't know, m'lady.  He still hasn't regained consciousness, but hope is high.  He'll never look the same again though, poor lad.  Permanently scarred, that side of his face will be, if not disfigured entirely."  The doctor seemed more relaxed as he talked to Elizabeth.  "You shouldn't be up and about like this, if I may take the liberty to say such, not in your condition."

Will shook his head vigorously to head off her barrage of rebukes before it could even start.

"How badly is Jack hurt?"  Will still stood by the curtain, trying to reconcile his memories and knowledge of the pirate with the motionless figure lying in his house.

  
"I don't even know why he's still breathing.  He must be the most stubborn person in the world.  As long as he is breathing, though, let's keep it that way, at least until the debacle at the fort is worked out.  The major concern is the fever at the moment.  Get water into him if you can.  Keep washing him down with cool water . . .if you have ice, pack that around him."  Will shook his head.  Ice was an exceedingly precious commodity, especially in the Caribbean, and one that he and Elizabeth had never indulged in, though Elizabeth's father could probably have gotten some somehow.  "I'll be back tomorrow to see if I still have a patient."

The doctor rose and let himself out, leaving behind a small bottle of ointment.

"I'll look after him tonight.  Ye and Will need your rest."  Ana-Maria settled down onto the chair next to the cot, leaving no room for argument.

Will and Elizabeth gave in without a fight, closing the door between their room and the main room of the house, giving the female pirate time and space to do whatever she needed to begin healing not just her captain but her own heart.


	19. Chapter 19: Late Night Bargains

Disclaimer:  This world isn't real, it's just a program, so even if I am stealing them and making money (laughs until nearly passing out from oxygen deprivation) it doesn't matter!

AN:  Still all-around grateful.  Don't shoot me for this chapter—the muse wouldn't let it go, no matter how hard I tried to skip it or explain that no, this shouldn't happen, it's bad to think like this . . .

**A Taste of Misery**

**Part 19**

Will awoke with a gasp, stifling the scream that had been building in his throat, thankful that Elizabeth had rolled away from him sometime during the night so that his sudden awakening hadn't disturbed her rest.

He had been reliving the battle in the caves, fighting for his own life as Jack battled Barbosa.  He heard Barbosa telling Jack that he couldn't win, heard the thud as Jack thrust his sword through Barbosa's chest, and turned towards the combatants.  He watched with the same fascinated horror that had gripped him in the caves as Barbosa stabbed Jack as well, preparing himself for the transformation from living man to undead skeleton as the curse settled over Jack . . .

A transformation that didn't occur.  Jack stumbled backwards into the moonlight, still very much human, and as he struggled to breath blood began to bubble from his nose and mouth.  The pirate turned towards Will, a frightened, pleading look on his face that Will had never seen before, reaching out with one hand while the other grasped the hilt of the sword imbedded in his chest.  Then he collapsed wordlessly.

Turning towards Barbosa, Will prepared to fight, a dim awareness building in his mind that told him this was not how it was supposed to happen, only it wasn't Barbosa he faced, it was Almorte, and the man was already bearing down on him, an undead assassin that relished in the kill . . .

Will shook the remnants of the dream from his mind, still breathing heavily and covered in sweat.  The sick feeling in the pit of his stomach wouldn't be tossed aside so quickly, though.

He suddenly _had_ to see the pirate, had to see that the man was still breathing, still alive, if not well.

Shaking slightly, he got up as silently as he could and put his pants on before heading towards the door, never hesitating despite the darkness.  He knew the house too well for the dark to cause him any problems.

He heard it as he reached his hand out towards the door, the notes soft and melancholy.

It was the pirate song that Elizabeth had taught Jack.  Whereas the pirate captain normally sang it raucously, the woman singing now had adopted the slow style that Elizabeth used occasionally, a layer of sadness and sorrow added that wrenched at Will's heart.

"Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me."  A soft catch in the singer's voice caught his attention.  "We pillage and plunder we—"  The singer stopped abruptly, and Will realized that Ana-Maria was crying.

He hesitated at the door, considering returning quietly to bed.

"Oh, Jack, I'm so sorry . . .so bloody sorry . . .I wish . . ."  The words were spoken softly, but Will could still hear them clearly.

Ana-Maria hadn't allowed him to wallow in his own guilt, and he wasn't about to let her wallow in hers.  If she got angry, he had a ready excuse.  A small voice in the back of his mind still screamed that he had to ascertain that the pirate still breathed.

Will gently opened the door and stepped through into the dim light of a single candle.  He stopped dead, unable to comprehend what he was seeing.

Ana-Maria sat at the head of the cot, Jack's head cradled against her shoulder, her arms under his.

What shocked him was the dagger that she held in both hands and the tears that streamed down her face.

"What are you . . ."

The female pirate turned to Will, her eyes flat and lifeless.

"Go back to sleep, William Turner."

"You're going to kill him."  Anger was beginning to replace shock.  "What do you think you're doing?"

"What has to be done, lad."

"I'm no lad, and this does not have to be done.  This is cold-blooded murder."

"My blood's not cold, and this does have to be done.  Ye were there, William Turner.  Ye saw 'is eyes.  'Twasn't Jack Sparrow that attacked ye."

Will remembered the snarl on the pirate captain's face and the look in his eyes all too well.

"You got through to him, though.  He was better."

"I was losing him again at the end, and I can't very well walk in front of him and stare him in the eye for the rest of my life."  The female pirate gently disentangled herself from her captain and stood to face Will, returning the dagger to the sheath in her boot.  "I canna bring him back to the _Pearl _like that.  It would be unfair t' him and t' the crew.  Where would ye have me leave him, Will Turner?  He has no family.  Even if I brought him on the ship, he'd die in the first raid."

"Here.  He can stay here."

"What do you have . . .two months until yer child is born?  You would take on a mad pirate and a child at the same time, would you?  It doesn't matter anyways, Will.  Jack can't stay in one place indefinitely, not even here.  No matter what the Commodore and the Governor feel, they answer to the crown, and do ye think there are no ambitious men here who would like to have their places?  Exposing corruption can be so helpful to a politicians career."  Ana-Maria sneered slightly.

"It will take time to investigate what happened at the fort, time to send a ship to Britain and receive a response.  Time for him to heal.  Time to ask for amnesty."  Will reached over to place his hand on Ana-Maria's shoulder, willing her to understand.

The pirate dodged his hand.  "They won't grant him amnesty.  And he won't heal, Will.  He's had over a month to heal, and he hasn't."

Will pulled back.  "What do you mean?"

"He killed a child, Will."

_Don't ye e'er name a child after me, William Turner._

"What?"

"Ye should ne'er have taught him to throw his sword like that."

"I only showed him a few times, two years ago, and he managed to cut his hand open at that."

"You showed him how helpful it could be three years ago, and he practiced.  He got to the point where he could draw, turn, and toss it at the spot where a sound had come from in two seconds.  The _Pearl_'s crew won quite a few bets that way."  The pirate paused, smiling slightly.  "He had never used the trick in a fight."

"What happened?"

"We had taken the _Deadlock_ by surprise—the sentry had a bit too much rum that night, I think.  Jack had made it to the captain's cabin and had a sword at the man's throat before he even knew they had been boarded.  The lad was barefoot; any sound he made entering must have been covered up by us.  When he saw that Jack was there, he panicked, and he turned to run."

"He made noise."  Will closed his eyes, envisioning it happening.

"Aye.  Jack thought he had banged into the doorframe as he turned to run.  Jack was tired of being attacked from behind—even pirates expect a little decency from people.  He turned and he threw at the sound before he saw who it was."

"How old was the boy?"

"Six, almost seven.  It was his first voyage."  Ana-Maria paused.  "It wasn't a clean kill, Will.  A sword that was meant to go through a grown man's heart went through the boy's neck."

Will could see it clearly, hear the thud as the sword settled into the boy's flesh, see the spray of blood that would steadily grow weaker, the twitching of the boy's limbs as his life bled away . . .

"How did Jack react?"

"Then?  He couldn't.  He herded the captain upstairs at gunpoint and we tied him up with the rest of the crew.  Jack was captain of the _Pearl_; he had to stay calm, stay in control.  We looted the ship and we left her."

"That's it?  He killed a child, even unintentionally, and proceeded to loot the ship?"

"Does it make ye feel better to know he tried to drink himself to death the next day?  Does that suit your sense of justice?"

Will paused, running his hands through his hair and staring between Ana-Maria and Jack, who still lay unmoving on the cot.

"He was falling apart, Will Turner.  You remember I said the seventh killing on Jack's conscience was the reason we made port in Jackson?  He was sending a letter of apology and money to the bloody family of the boy.  They got more out of his death than they probably ever did out of his life."

"How do you know that?"

"I saw him writing it in his cabin.  He had gotten the name and home of the boy from the captain before we left the _Deadlock_.  I asked him if I could go with him.  He said he was going to send the letter and the money, get drunk, and put it behind him, but that he needed to do it alone."

"Only Silverfirth and Almorte caught him."

"Aye."

"I was beginning to wonder if he even could write.  He never sent messages here."

"He can't write very well, but well enough to get the point across if he tries.  He hadn't written here because he didn't know what to say . . .and he was rather embarrassed because you and Elizabeth are both so . . .literate.  Then, after the _Deadlock_, he didn't know what you had heard, and he wanted to tell you himself so that you'd understand."

Will stared at Ana-Maria, uncertain what to say.

"Go back to bed, Will Turner.  I have to return to the _Pearl_ tomorrow, and by the time your child is born this whole mess will seem like a bad dream.  Your world will never be troubled with pirates again."

"I won't let you kill him."

"He's going to die anyway, Will.  Look at him.  This is mercy."

"So what do you want?  A miracle?  Him to suddenly be fine?"

"What I _want_, with all my heart and soul, is for him to jump up and tell me that I'm wrong, that he's Captain Jack Sparrow and nothing in this god's-cursed bloody world can hurt him, savvy!  What I _want_ is to have my captain back, my friend back, but that's not going to happen.  Open your eyes, Will Turner!  You saw."

Will forced himself to relax, dropping his eyes from Ana-Maria's.  "Leave him here.  Please.  Just until my child is born—two months, Ana-Maria.  Please."

The pirate looked at him sadly, and he could still see the glint of tear-tracks down her face.

Finally she nodded.  "Aye, Will Turner.  Ye have two months.  Don't say I didn't warn ye, though, lad.  Now return to your wife.  She needs you."

Will nodded and slowly returned to bed, leaving the door open between the two rooms, wondering what he had just gotten himself into.


	20. Chapter 20: Hoping Again

Disclaimer:  An unknown person has murdered all the real creators and/or owners of these play-toys and a mysterious new will has turned up in which they present them as a gift to EstelWolfe . . .If anyone believes that, _they_ should get professional help . . .

AN:  Grateful.  Grateful.  *Bows to almighty reviewers*  If you're still reading after that last chapter, I'm ecstatic.  *Glares evilly at muse, who is blissfully unaware*  Okay, continuing onward . . .

**A Taste of Misery**

**Part 20**

Will rested his head in his hands, fighting the urge to sleep.  The last two weeks had probably been the worst of his life.  If Dante were still alive, Will could tell him of an even deeper level of hell than anything he had dreamed of before.

Ana-Maria had left as soon as he and Elizabeth had awoken, but not before pressing the small pouch with Jack's rings and beads into his hand.

"Keep it close, Will.  In case of a miracle."  He had tied the drawstring to his belt, carrying it as she had.

Will had decided not to tell Elizabeth about what had happened—it would only anger her and cause more stress, which couldn't be good for the child.

Stress.  That was something he had thought he mastered three years ago.  He understood now how wrong he was.

Each day had seemed the same, a blurred track of fear and frustration and misery.  He would work in the blacksmith shop as long as he could stand it, forcing himself to finish the projects that he already had, reluctantly accepting more orders.  His blades had become well known since Jack had last seen him, and the business was flourishing.

When he couldn't stand to be away from home any longer, he would return, and take his turn at the vigil.  Over the past two weeks the pirate had oscillated between complete unconsciousness and hallucinations.

More often than not his words were unintelligible, but what Will could understand froze his blood in his veins.

The man had probably alternately cursed and blessed every person and place he had ever known.

The one thing that the pirate always cursed and never blessed was Jack Sparrow.

When he and Elizabeth could take no more, they would go to bed for a few hours, leaving the pirate in the care of a maid who had come down from the governor's house to help.

There had been a few incidents that broke the pattern.

The doctor had come twice, each time saying that he could do no more and didn't even understand how the pirate captain was still alive.

Norrington had made regular appearances every other day, looking ragged and worn.  He had managed to keep the garrison in control despite all that had happened, but the work required to do so told on his face.

He also brought updates on Brian for Elizabeth.  The young redcoat had regained consciousness and was healing.  He would always bear a scar on his right cheek, and his nose would always have a slight bend in it where it had been broken.  There was a possibility that he would be permanently blind in his right eye.

Yet the lad lived, and was proud of what he had done.  Will admired him even as he envied Norrington.

Norrington's man was alive and on the way to recovery.

Jack still hung somewhere between life and death, sanity and insanity.

Silverfirth had hung himself two days after the showdown with Almorte.  Will was furious with the man for robbing him of the satisfaction of at least a little revenge and justice through a trial, but he also pitied the man who had lived with the guilt for the deaths of his family and other innocents day in and day out because he hadn't used his head and had believed a professional con-artist.

The governor had sent word of what had transpired to England, asking for information on the assassin as well as for instructions as to how to proceed now.  

It was a bid to buy time, and so far it was working.

Then today the pattern had disintegrated entirely.  The fever that had raged inside the pirate captain had finally given up, and he had fallen into what seemed to be a normal sleep.

Will sat now at his bedside, waiting for the pirate to wake, hoping and fearing what he would see when the man did.

_Ye were there, William Turner.  Ye saw 'is eyes.  'Twasn't Jack Sparrow that attacked ye._

He couldn't count the number of times those words had played through his mind over the last two weeks.

Jack was strong.  Will knew that.  To be a pirate—and a good one—for so long you had to be strong.  To have come virtually unscathed through the incident with Barbosa he had to be strong.  To stand on the gallows and complain about them not adding 'Captain' to his name and laugh at the memories of impersonating a clergyman he had to be strong.

Yet even strong men had a breaking point, and he feared this might be Jack's.

Raising his eyes, he started in surprise to see that the pirate's eyes were open and staring, not through him, as they always had for the past two weeks, but at him.

Hope leaped inside his heart despite his best efforts to contain it.

"Jack.  It's Will.  It's good to have you back with us."

The pirate captain didn't utter a sound as he continued to stare at Will, his eyes displaying no emotion.

"Jack . . ."  Will reached out uncertainly and clasped the other man's hand, no longer hot but cool to the touch.

The pirate pulled his hand away and turned towards the wall before closing his eyes and apparently falling back into a deep sleep.

Will sat for what seemed like a minor eternity before getting up and going to tell Elizabeth what had happened.


	21. Chapter 21: Carving Lessons

Disclaimer:  I'm tired of these . . .my brain is going to overheat if I have to write many more . . .must I admit that I don't owe them? . . .oden them? . . .*breathes deeply* . . .own them?

AN:  I have never been as furious with my computer as I was when I couldn't upload the last two chapters of my story when I got them done . . .and it wasn't even _my_ poor computers fault!  Hell hath no fury like an author denied publishing . . .Again, thanks for the wishes for my family, and I'm spending all day with them and writing at night.  Also thanks for reviews.

**A Taste of Misery**

**Part 21**

Will gently slid the thin blade over the tawny-colored wood, pealing away a small piece.

He had never really wanted to learn to carve, but the governor had thought it somewhat more gentlemanly than blacksmithing, and it was something he could with his hands while he was at home.

The last week had been almost a let down after the hell of the two before it.  The pirate captain had mainly slept, not the heavy, uninterruptible sleep of unconsciousness that had claimed him during most of his illness but the sleep of the bitterly weary.

He also hadn't spoken a word.

Will had brought the point up with Elizabeth, who was growing heavier with child each day, but his simmering panic had been met with cool acceptance.

"He should have said something by now, Elizabeth!"

"Why?"  Will had stared at her in shock.  "Why should he have spoken?  Because you need the reassurance?"  She had moved over and enfolded him in as tight a hug as she could manage.

"He was hurt badly, Will, and not just physically.  We betrayed him, even if we didn't understand at the time what we were doing, and left him for Almorte to play with.  You told me that he had killed a child not long before this started.  He needs time, Will, but he'll work it out.  Jack's a strong man, a stubborn man.  He's eating and drinking and sleeping and shaving."

Will's jaw had dropped at the last part.  Elizabeth kissed him before squeezing his hands and moving away.

"He'll talk when he's ready, Will."

That had been the end of the conversation for Elizabeth, but though it helped assuage his fears somewhat, it hadn't laid any of them to a permanent rest.

He had begun to think like Ana-Maria did.  What if the crown replied before Jack was in any condition to run and the reply was to send him to the gallows yet again?  What if Norrington or the governor changed their mind?

He looked up from the wood and towards the pirate, who was now sitting cross-legged on the bed, staring back at Will.  Still clean-shaven and dressed in Will's old clothes, he still seemed vulnerable to the blacksmith . . .very vulnerable.  His wrist was bound tightly so that he couldn't moved it much, and bandages criss-crossed their way around his chest and down his arms, though there were fewer now than there had been before.

"It's a carving, Jack . . .or it's supposed to be, eventually.  I'm not very good at it, but the governor thought it would be at least slightly more gentlemanly than blacksmithing, and it _is_ a bit easier to drag home than the . . .shop . . .he said that this would make a good bird, but I'm really not seeing it coming out here."

The pirate continued to stare at him, and Will thought . . .wished? . . .that he saw a flare of interest in the man's eyes.

Normally he would have expected a flippant comment, but he could handle interest at the moment.

He could handle just about anything but indifferent and flat at the moment.

He carried the piece of wood and the knife towards the cot, dragging a chair along behind him, and settled down into the chair quickly.

"Would you like to try, Jack?"  The pirate cocked his head slightly, and Will almost thought he could catch the ghost of a smile on the man's face.  "It's fairly simple, at least in principle."

He proceeded to demonstrate before handing the wood and knife over.

The pirate carefully turned the wood the way that he wanted it before settling it in his injured hand and closing his fingers around it as tightly as he could with his wrist wrapped.  Then he took the knife and with a few deft twitches of his uninjured wrist sent a small pile of shavings onto the floor before holding the wood out to Will again.

"Have you done this before?  An infamous pirate who can carve better than a blacksmith . . .what's next?"  Will accepted the wood and knife, carefully selecting his own place to carve and before returning the objects to the pirate.

He was almost certain that he had caught a smile on the other man's face that time.

The two continued to carve in silence for the next forty minutes, passing the wood slowly back and forth between them.  Will was fairly certain that he could see the wings and head of a bird beginning to take shape, a feat that amazed him.

Passing the wood back to the pirate, he frowned slightly as he saw the slight trembling of Jack's hands that betrayed exhaustion.

The pirate again carefully positioned the wood and prepared to slice off a few shavings, but even as he pressed down with the knife, his fingers loosened, and the wood slid off his hand onto the floor.

Will sat frozen for a moment as blood welled up, filling the pirate's cupped hand.  

"Oh, Jack . . ."

Gazing into the other man's eyes, he was shocked to see them alight with fear, pain and panic.

A moment later the pirate slumped forward into Will's arms, unconscious.


	22. Chapter 22: Crossing Blades

Disclaimer:  My mom is trying to get me to contact Disney to sell this to them . . .really, I'm not making this up, and it's starting to frighten me . . .if I owned them there wouldn't be this minor (major) problem . . .

AN:  Still bowing to reviewers.  Still praying for family.  Still updating.  Still bloody glad that I have people reading after chapter 19—I was fairly certain that would drive a lot of people off.

**A Taste of Misery**

**Part 22**

Will stepped quietly into the house, his gaze automatically locking on the pirate lying, apparently asleep, on the cot.

It had been two weeks since the day that Jack had cut himself, and he had been home for perhaps five hours a night since he had talked with his wife about what had happened.

"He's a pirate!  Pirates don't faint like women at the sight of blood, even their own!"

  
"Not all women faint at the sight of blood, Will, and is he a pirate at the moment?  Does he look like a pirate?  Does he act like a pirate?"

Will had conceded the points through his silence.

"He's human, Will.  Maybe he's tired of bloodshed.  Maybe, at least for a little while, he wants to forget what a pirate is, what he's done as a pirate.  Give him time, Will."

Will had given up, not wanting to go into the same arguments about why the man didn't have time.

The next day he had begun practically living at the shop.

Elizabeth thought that he was avoiding Jack, avoiding everything that had happened and was happening, but that wasn't entirely true.

And it wasn't as if Elizabeth needed him here.  The maid had stayed on to help with the housework, allowing Elizabeth more time to rest and relax as she grew heavier and heavier with child.

In less than a month now, he would have his first-born.

What the maid didn't do for Elizabeth, the pirate did, still silent and withdrawn, but growing steadily stronger each day.  Anything the women needed done that he was capable of helping with he would.

Perhaps he had been avoiding Jack.  Watching the pirate limp through ordinary housework was something that wrenched at Will's heart.

He had something to show for it, though.

Treading as silently as he could, he moved to stand beside the cot and tossed the wrapped bundle he carried under one arm onto it.

The pirate was instantly awake and staring at him.

"It's a gift, Jack.  Open it."

One eyebrow quirked in curiosity as the man did as he was ordered, carefully untying the string and removing the contents of the package.

Even in its scabbard the sword was a beautiful thing.  The hilt, black with gold filigree twined into the shape of bird in flight, fit snugly into the pirate's hand.

"Draw it, Jack."  Will couldn't conceal the grin of delight on his face as the man did as he was ordered.

A J had been carefully inscribed into the blade, starting a half-inch below the hilt and curling upward for two inches.

"It's still perfectly balanced, Jack, and the inscription doesn't weaken the blade."  The grin faltered as the pirate continued to stare at the blade, no expression apparent on his face.  "It's one of the best blades I've ever made, Jack."

The pirate glanced over at Will and grinned.

Will's heart leapt suddenly.

"Come on, Jack.  Try it out."

The pirate again quirked an eyebrow and held up his right hand, the wrist still bound and the palm bandaged.

"Can't you fight switch, Jack?  I thought you were one of the best swordsmen in the Caribbean."

Jack grinned again and stood, twirling the blade once with his left hand before saluting Will with it and falling into a guard stance.

Will drew his own sword and saluted, aware of how awkward it felt to hold the blade in his left hand.  He _could_ fight with both hands, he had made certain of that, but he didn't _like_ to.

The two blades crossed easily, both men being careful not to attack too roughly.  This was a friendly game, not a real duel.

Will grinned.  "Your form's good, but how about your footwork?"

The pirate responded with a series of gentle blows that Will easily parried as they maneuvered around the table and between chairs.

Will was peripherally aware of Elizabeth and the maid watching from the doorway to their bedroom.

When they finally stopped their play, Jack was trembling from head to foot, and Will's left arm burned from exertion.

Will moved to help the pirate captain back towards the cot and found himself enveloped in an unexpected bear hug.

"Thank ye, lad."

The words were whispered and hoarse and the contact broken so abruptly that Will almost convinced himself he had imagined them.

The pirate gently sheathed his sword and rested it against the side of the cot before falling back onto it and closing his eyes.

  
Will noted with satisfaction that it was within reach of the pirate's hand as he headed towards the bedroom and his wife.


	23. Chapter 23: An Unexpected Need

Disclaimer:  I own my pen-name for this story and that's about it, though the characters still own me . . .

AN:  Watching brothers.  Seeing grandma.  Dreading band camp as well as living it (our school is too poor this year to go away).  Writing.  Reading reviews.  Sleeping somewhere in there.  Welcome to my world.

**A Taste of Misery**

**Part 23**

Elizabeth watched the pirate from the doorway, studiously working on something, though he had placed his body in such a way so that what it was would not be obvious from either the house or the road what he held in his hand.

Despite all her admonitions to Will about being patient and healing taking time, she was beginning to lose hope—and patience—herself.

It had been two-and-a-half weeks since the day that Will gave the pirate the sword.

In that time, the bandages had slowly disappeared, until the only one left was a light brace for his right wrist, and even that wasn't really necessary anymore.

Every day Jack would practice with the sword, dueling with Will if he was home, dueling with shadows if he wasn't.  Every day he would spend at least an hour out here, doing something by himself, though Elizabeth wasn't sure what it was.

He would do anything Elizabeth or Will asked of him.

But he hadn't spoken again.

And he was running out of time.  Will said that the _Pearl_ would be back in less than a week.

Then the governor had summoned both Will and Norrington to his home office for a meeting, and Elizabeth feared what this portended for the pirate.

"Jack."  The pirate scrambled to his feet, placing whatever he had been working on into a pouch at his belt before sauntering over to her, his head cocked inquiringly.

"Jack, Will's worried about you.  _I'm_ worried about you.  The _Pearl_ is going to be here soon, and—"  Elizabeth stopped, placing a hand on her abdomen.  "And—"

Elizabeth let out a small cry of pain and surprise as a clear fluid suddenly gushed from between her legs.  The maid had appeared at her side before Jack could get over his shock and make a move.

"Hush now, m'lady, it's only the water breaking.  Come inside and sit down."  She guided Elizabeth inside and to a chair before rounding on the pirate, a hint of fear on her face.

"You run and get her husband and the mid-wife.  Go on!  I know ye can understand me, and if her estimates are right then the child is early!"  Jack didn't move.  "Go on!  I can stay and help her—what can you do here?  Go on!  Do ye want more innocent blood on your hands?!"  A note of hysteria was beginning to creep into the woman's whispered voice.

Jack turned and ran as if all the demons of hell were on his tail.

                                    *                                   *                                   *

The pirate rushed into the governor's house, knocking the butler over in his haste before rushing up the stairs to the governor's home office.

Four pairs of eyes turned to stare at him as he dashed into the room without knocking.

"Will . . ."  His voice was ragged and hoarse.

"Jack?  Jack, what's wrong?"  The pirate stood silently for what seemed to Will to be a small eternity.  "Jack, is something wrong with Elizabeth?"  Will restrained the urge to reach out and shake the man.

The pirate closed his eyes tightly and a shudder coursed through the length of his body.

When he opened them again, Will stepped backward in shock.  The pirate's entire bearing had changed.

His eyes were no longer flat and disinterested, focused on something that Will couldn't see, or pained and fearful, but carried a sharp, piercing glance.

He still slouched, but it wasn't the world-weary expression that it had been before.

It was the natural posture of Captain Jack Sparrow, pirate extraordinaire.

"It seems the opportune moment has arrived, lad.  She's having your child now.  I don't know where the midwife lives in Port Royal—ye might want to send someone to fetch her."

Will stood silently staring at the pirate.  Then with deft fingers he untied the small rawhide pouch that he had carried at his belt for nearly two months and tossed it to Jack.

"In case of miracles."

Jack opened the pouch and grinned.

Then the reality of what Jack had said registered in Will's mind.

"Oh, God, I have to get home.  Governor, Commodore, Brian, I'm sorry, we can continue this discussion later . . ."

He was out the door before anyone could respond.

Jack leant back against the wall, breathing heavily from the run.

"Brian, go and fetch the midwife, please, and send her to the Turner's residence.  Then return here."

The young redcoat nodded and moved to obey the Commodore's order, staring hard at Jack as he left.

"Mr. Sparrow, I trust you will be returning to the Turner's residence."  Norrington also stared hard at the pirate.

"Aye, _sir_, though I expect the boy's going to beat me by quite a bit."

Jack straightened and moved to leave the room, unnerved by the close examinations he was receiving.

"Mr. Sparrow—congratulations on your . . .recovery."

Jack turned and grinned at the commodore, sweeping a small bow before sauntering out of the room and back down the stairs at a more sedate pace.


	24. Chapter 24: Waiting

Disclaimer:  No creator could be this cruel to their children . . .(thinks on her own story and on the state of the world) . . .um . . .let me rephrase that . . .

AN:  I love you people!  Really, really I do, you kept reviewing (and _liking_) even after chapter 19, you didn't get bored, you kept saying that it's a bloody good story . . .I just love you people.  Minor tirade being done, there's only this and one more chapter to go in the story.  I _might_ have another PotC plot forming in my head, which would take place maybe five years after this one, and there _might_ be a LotR's one fighting with it for dominance, but at the moment both are in the just-being-born phase of brainstorming, and could quite conceivably miscarry.

**A Taste of Misery**

**Part 24**

Will watched in consternation as Jack opened all of the cupboards in the kitchen, rummaging through each one before moving onto the next.

The pirate was quite a sight to see.  He had somehow got his hands on kohl, though Will wasn't sure where or how—perhaps Ana-Maria or Elizabeth had added some to the small pouch that held the rest of his belongings—and outlined his eyes again.

His rings were back on his fingers.

He had started to re-braid the beads into his hair when he had had to stop and forcibly restrain Will from barging into the bedroom when Elizabeth had screamed in pain.

As a result he cut a rather comic figure, half of his hair still hanging free and respectable, the other done up like it had been before Almorte, still dressed in Will's old clothes and clean-shaven but with the sword strapped to his side, the first time he had carried a weapon in two months.

After convincing Will that he really didn't want to barge in on the ladies or strangle Jack Sparrow for stopping him, the pirate had seemingly abandoned his attempt at regaining his old appearance and begun his scavenger-hunt, though Will was still uncertain what for.

"All right, I give.  What are you looking for?"

The pirate's answer was unintelligible as he knocked the back of his head on the top of one of the cabinets when pulling himself out.

"Take a guess."

Will shook his head, his feelings mixed amusement and concern.

"I have absolutely no idea, Jack."

Jack abandoned his search to stare reproachfully at the blacksmith.

"I'll help you out, then.  There's no treasure worth the trouble in Port Royal, and the only three women I know in this port are currently locked in your bedroom and rather indisposed.  What does this leave us with?"

Will smiled.  "You've been here two months and only now do you decide to look for the rum."

The pirate flashed him a grin before turning his attention back to the cabinets.

"What makes you think I've got any?  You know Elizabeth abhors the stuff, and it's hardly a gentleman's drink."

The pirate's head reappeared again.  "And you are hardly a gentlemen, Will Turner.  Do gentlemen harbor injured pirates?  Even the lady refers to you as a pirate, I do believe."

"Jack."  The grin dropped off the pirate's face as the concern in Will's voice and face made itself obvious.  "Are you really well?"

"Aye, lad, as well as I've ever been."  The pirate stood to look Will in the eye, rubbing his right wrist.  "Thanks to you, Will Turner, and your wife."

"Why wouldn't you . . .why didn't you . . .what took you so long to come back, Jack?  I was . . ."  Will turned away, uncomfortably aware that he was on the verge of crying in front of a man whose respect he valued.  Everything was just happening so bloody fast . . .

"Will . . .I didn't know up from down for the first two weeks you had me here.  After that, I slept, and my body healed, but ye can't escape the dreams, lad.  They haunt ye, waking and sleeping.  When I couldn't drown myself in sleep anymore, I fought inside my head.  Ye helped a lot, Will, with your carving . . .and with the sword.  Fit for a king and given freely to a pirate.  I didn't deserve it, Will.  I still don't."

The expression on the pirate's face frightened Will.

"You do deserve it, Jack.  I made it for you, and that's all the proof you should need that you deserve it."  He clapped the pirate on the shoulder gently.  "Why now?  Why come back now?"

"Because you needed me, William Turner, you and Elizabeth.  I won't have more children's blood on my hands."

"We needed you before."

"Not as badly as I needed me."

"I don't understand, Jack."

"Maybe you're not meant to.  I can't explain to you what was happening in my head, Will.  Sometimes even Jack Sparrow isn't safe up there.  I told you a little of what happened in here."  He tapped his chest.  "That's all I can give ye.  Will it be enough, William Turner?"

Will nodded, his lips twitching upward into a slight grin.

"Good!  Now that we've had our philosophy chat, which I was not nearly drunk enough to enjoy, could you kindly show me where you've hid the rum, lad?"

"I'm not a lad, Jack.  I'm twenty-one and about to become a father."

"You're a lad still to me, and an innocent one at that."

"I am not innocent, either!"  Will heard what he had just said and laughed as the pirate grinned at him.

"Ye'll always be an innocent lad to me, Will Turner, but I thought we'd had enough of the philosophy, at least until we've had a drink."

"What would you say if I told you Elizabeth burned it all?"

The crestfallen look on the pirate's face finally broke Will's resolve.  Moving over to one of the cabinets that the pirate had already abandoned, he carefully pried up the bottom and pulled out a small barrel.

"Elizabeth did get rid of the other one after Ana-Maria left."

"That woman is absolutely no fun, Will."  The pirate was already grabbing glasses off the shelf.

"Which one, Jack?  The one that burns the rum, or the one that tries to kill you?"

Jack stared down at Will, his expression one of shock.

"She really would have done that for me?"

Will poured out the rum and took a gulp before he answered.  "I thought people were supposed to get upset when their friends tried to kill them."

"Not when it's mercy, and not when the friend's a fellow pirate who understands how survival works."

"But you're not dead, and you're not mad . . .at least not any more than you were three years ago."

"Would you have said that twelve hours ago?  Besides, I thought we agreed to put the philosophy on hold."

Will sighed and took another gulp of the liquid.  "I'll never understand you."

"Ye're not supposed to, Will.  That would wreck all the fun."  The pirate grinned at Will triumphantly and raised his glass in a toast.

The rest of the afternoon and the night passed slowly, mostly spent in silence as the two men waited for word.

When the door finally opened, it took both men by surprise.  "Mr. Turner, you can go see your wife now."  The midwife stood smiling and gestured towards the bedroom.

Will was on his feet as quickly as he could manage, Jack directly behind him.

Both men stopped abruptly as they stared at Elizabeth on the bed—or more precisely at the bundles held close on either side of her.

Jack turned to Will, his expression a mixture of shock and disbelief.

"There're two of them."

Will nodded slowly, his head moving back and forth.

"Well, you're definitely not a eunuch."  Jack clapped Will on the shoulder.

Elizabeth stared at the pirate, a slight smile tugging at her mouth.  She was sweaty and appeared utterly exhausted, but Will thought she had never seemed more beautiful in all the time he had known her.

"Come hold your daughter, Will."  The maid quickly grabbed the child from Elizabeth's arms and carried her over to her father, who held her gently, as though he feared that his rough blacksmith hands might break her.

"What do you want to name her, Elizabeth?"

"Ana.  In honor of a good friend."  Will nodded slowly, his expression troubled.

"What of the other child?"  Will nodded his head towards the child that Elizabeth clutched to her side.

"Maybe Jack should hold him, Will.  After all, your first-born son should get to know his namesake, right?"

Jack's face clouded and he backed away, fear appearing again in his eyes.  Will quickly handed his daughter to the maid and grabbed the pirate by the shoulder before he could make a complete get-away.

"Jack . . .it's all right.  Elizabeth knows.  It was an accident.  Put it behind you.  I would be honored to have my son share your name."

The pirate started to shake his head no.

"Jack . . .please."

Staring between Will, Elizabeth and the two tiny children, he finally nodded a tentative yes.

"Good."  Will moved over and kissed his wife gently before carefully gathering his son into his arms and moving over to where the pirate still stood frozen.  "Now hold him."

The pirate held up his hands as though pleading for mercy.  "Will . . .I really don't handle children all that well . . .Will, please . . ."

"Come on, Jack, you're not afraid of a baby, are you?"

The pirate froze again and reluctantly held out his hands to take the child.

"Now just cradle him . . .that's it . . ."  Jack stared in amazement at the child held snugly against his chest.  One tiny fist reached up and slapped at his chin.

"Well, there's a good thing about not having a beard . . .nothing for the babe to grab on to."

Jack grinned at his friends, who returned the expression whole-heartedly.


	25. Chapter 25: Farewells and Reminders

Disclaimer:  If you haven't figured out by now that they're not mine, no one in the world can help you.

AN:  This is the last chapter in this story.  I would like to request something that drives my friends absolutely nutters but that helps me immensely.  If those who have the time could tell me what they liked best and worst about my story (either by chapter or plot point), I would be grateful.  Please also point out any inconsistencies or historical inaccuracies that you might have noticed.  Enjoy the end (hopefully).

**A Taste of Misery**

**Part 25**

Ana-Maria slipped quietly in the door, silently cursing Will Turner for making it this easy for her.  She had warned him about setting the locks.

She grasped the dagger tightly in her right hand, dreading what she had to do.  She would finish what should have ended two months ago and be on her way, telling the crew that Jack had died of his injuries over a month ago.

The only one who would ever know the truth would be her . . .and Will Turner.

Walking carefully around the table, she was stopped by the feel of a blade against her throat.

"What is it that I'm supposed to tell ye, love?  Oh, that's right, I'm supposed to jump up and tell you that you're wrong, that I'm Captain Jack Sparrow and nothing in this god's-cursed bloody world can hurt me, savvy?"

Ana-Maria turned to look at the speaker.  "Jack . . .Jack, you're all right."

The pirate captain nearly fell as the woman launched herself at him, grabbing him in a tight hug around the neck that almost strangled him.

Then she leapt back and slapped him across the face.  "Don't ye e'er do that to me again, Jack Sparrow!  Do you have any idea what hell you've put me—the crew—through for these past two months?  Oh, God forgive me, Jack, I was going to . . ."

"You were going to do what would be right under any other circumstances, love.  I don't blame ye.  I hope I have the courage to do that for a friend if the need ever arises.  Keep your voice down, though . . .ye really don't want to wake your namesake.  She's got a fine healthy set of lungs in her."

"My namesake . . .?"

Jack gestured towards the bedroom, and Ana-Maria moved forward hesitantly.  When she entered the room, Will, who had been sitting fully clothed on the edge of the bed, lit the lamp.

"We were expecting you sometime soon."  Will smiled and gestured towards the crib in the corner, handing the lamp to Ana-Maria.

"There's two of them!"  Will, Elizabeth and Jack laughed softly.

"The one with the pink ribbon is Ana.  The other one is Jack."

Ana-Maria chuckled softly.  "Do they have godparents?"

"Ana's godfather is Commodore Norrington; Brian Lanebridges, the young redcoat from the garrison, is Jack's."

"May I . . .?"  At Elizabeth's nod, the female pirate gently lifted the girl out of the crib, holding her gently.  "They're beautiful, Will, Elizabeth."

"Thank you."

Ana-Maria looked closer at her captain, dressed in respectable clothes despite the rest of his appearance.  "Are you certain that you wish to return to the _Pearl_?"

Jack smiled tiredly.  "I don't have much choice.  I'm slated to hang in five days."

"What?"

"It was Norrington's idea to set a date, that could be pushed back if the _Pearl_ didn't show.  It seems that England still wishes for Jack's head."  Will stared at the pirate, something like sympathy in his eyes.

The Turner's bid farewell to the pirates shortly before dawn.

"Don't be such a stranger this time, Jack.  Write us.  Drop by.  Raid Port Royal.  The garrison could use some shaking up."

Jack smiled.  "I won't be a stranger, Will, but it's rather difficult for a pirate to know where he's going next."

Jack held out his hand to shake, only to find himself pulled into a hug by first Will and then Elizabeth.

"We'll miss you, Jack."

"I'll miss you, too, lad.  I'll miss ye as well, Elizabeth.  Thank you . . .for everything."

"We'll miss you, too, Ana-Maria.  Stop by sometime."

"I'll follow Jack.  It seems he needs someone to watch his back for him at all times."  The pirate captain stared at the woman in mock outrage.  The two set up a friendly banter as they started off down the road and disappeared into the night, headed back to Jack's horizonless world.

Will and Elizabeth waited until the last sounds had died away before entering the house again.  A splash of red against the tabletop caught Will's eye.

"What is it, Will?"

"It's Jack's bandana—or one exactly like it.  He must have left it here."  Will picked it up and was surprised to feel objects inside it.

Unfolding the bandana, he caught his breath.  One carving was the one that he and Jack had been working on before.  Fully finished, it showed a sparrow in flight, graceful and free.

The second carving was made from a darker wood, the polished sheen of the carving a mixed brown-black.  Again it was a sparrow, but this one was falling, not flying.  Three tiny splashes of red drew the eye to a sword embedded in the carved bird's abdomen.

"Will, they're beautiful . . .that must have been what he was working on . . ."

Elizabeth gently stroked a finger along the length of each bird.

Will nodded mutely, turning his attention back to the bandana as it crunched when he rested his arm on it.  He withdrew a small slip of brown parchment.

The writing was large and plain but legible.  Smiling slightly, he handed the note to Elizabeth.

"He didn't have to do this . . .I couldn't forget this time . . ."

"He knows that, Will.  This is repayment for the sword . . .and the friendship."

Will nodded, drawing his wife close as they made their way to their bedroom, careful not to wake the children.

The note had been brief and direct, a single bold word in the pirate's unassuming script:

Remember.


End file.
